


Hoping One Day We'll Make A Dream Last

by PookatheCat



Series: Roristair [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Anxiety, Awkwardness, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humour, Includes game banter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 77,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PookatheCat/pseuds/PookatheCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Alistair and Rori save their baby or do they face another tragedy? Will they ever be the happy family Alistair dreams of? Learn about Alistair's struggle to become a good king, about political intrigues and new alliances formed. Be their guest at the royal wedding. Find out how the Grey Wardens react to Rori's survival after slaying the archdemon. Accompany Rori and Alistair to Amaranthine and Kirkwall. Find out the truth about the Calling. Read how Rori tracks down Morrigan and find out about the witch's gift to the monarchs of Ferelden. Follow Alistair on his desperate search for his missing father, King Maric. Can he finally solve the mystery of his mother's true identity? Witness Rori's departure on search for a cure for the Calling, her final adventure should she fail. And Alistair left alone at the brink of yet another catastrophe threatening to destroy Thedas.</p><p>Find out about all that and more in Hoping One Day We'll Make a Dream Last, Part 2 of the Roristair Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Notevensorry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notevensorry/gifts), [Ashley_Reid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley_Reid/gifts).



> Dear readers, every writer loves to hear from you. So use the comment option for all the stories you read and enjoy. It doesn't matter if it's a completed story or work in progress. You don't have to write an essay, believe me, 'Enjoyed this chapter.' 'Laughed my ass off.' 'Love it.' etc. pp. is enough to make a writer smile. So do a good deed, it's a blessing for your karma. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Alistair will tell from a first person, past tense point of view. For Rori's part Alistair will be the narrator, telling her story from a third person, past tense point of view.
> 
> Beware! This is all very headcanon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to awesome editing manager Ashley Reid for editing this chapter.

Alistair Theirin, newly minted King of Ferelden, reluctantly opened his eyes and was instantly rewarded with splendid sunlight flooding in through the windows—and a splitting headache...  
How’s that for a start? Sounds quite dull, doesn’t it? Maybe if I had some darkspawn break in through the window I could fend them off armed only with my pillow... What? Just tell the story? Stick to the truth? Alright, alright... Now, where did I stop?

Err, yes...

My head wasn’t the only part of my body hurting. No surprise as my last memory included being gnawed on by the archdemon. My own condition, however, wasn’t the reason for my anxiety. It was the absence of my beloved soon-to-be wife. Last I had seen her, she had lain in my arms, more dead than alive, and with her talent for worst timing had chosen that very moment to confess she was with child.

Boy, she had some nerve!

After some thorough contemplation I came to the conclusion that I was indeed still alive and by the look of my surroundings—a formerly nicely furnished room, lots of bloodstains, breathtaking view of the burning havoc that was once the capital—I was somewhere inside the palace.

A rope dangling from the torn canopy of my bed turned out to be a bell and as soon as I rang it, Wynne sailed in through the doors with an encouraging smile plastered across her face. “How do we feel today?” she chimed as she put her hand on my forehead to check my temperature.

“I don‘t know how you feel. I‘d feel much better if I knew what happened to Rori.”

“Alistair, you should, for now, concentrate on getting well...”

“Wynne! How is Rori? Where is she?”

“She is... as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” Wynne answered evasively.

“What!? What does that mean? And what about the baby?”

“You shouldn‘t get yourself all worked up about her. You were badly injured, mostly internal bleeding. I did what I could—for you and for Rori. There is nothing you can do right now but rest. Everything else is in the Maker’s hand.” The granny mage smiled a warm, motherly smile and pinched my cheek.

If that was meant to comfort me, it didn’t work. Not a bit. She didn’t once mention the baby! They say no news are good news—well, blast that! I’ve never believed that to be true.

Groaning, I got out of bed as soon as Wynne disappeared—meaning I dropped onto the rug and lay there, unable to get to my feet as my legs were unwilling to support any weight. No surprise with one of my legs thoroughly bandaged and splinted.

Blast it!

I pulled myself forward, dragging the rug along. It slid nicely across the smooth floor. I rounded the bed when two pairs of boots appeared in sight.

“Your Majesty! What in the name of the Maker are you doing?” the owner of the dirty footwear exclaimed.

“He is not yet crowned so it is your Highness, if you please,” the shiny boots corrected.

“I doubt he cares much about being correctly addressed right now, Eamon.”

Right. Couldn’t have cared less. All I cared about was Rori. So, I decided not to bother with my visitors and just moved on with the task at hand: Find Rori! I slid to the right and crawled around the obstacles in my way only to be stopped again by two strong arms hauling me off the ground. Before I could even protest, I was back in bed and Eamon tugged the blanket around me like he occasionally had done when I was a boy.

“Your Highness, you were seriously injured. You should stay in bed.”

“Wynne said I had internal bleeding. That’s nothing much to worry about,” I sulked. “I mean, inside—that’s where the blood is supposed to be, right?”

“Did Wynne also say something about a serious head injury?” Teagan wondered while Eamon had a facepalm moment.

“Look, you cannot get up now,” Eamon began, sounding as if he was talking to an especially slow toddler, exhaustion written all over his face.

“Am I not king?” I cut him short. “And don’t kings give orders? The kind of orders people actually yield to?”

“Alistair, please be reasonable...” Eamon sighed in exasperation. No “your Highness,” no “your Majesty,” not your Whateverness or your Somethingesty. Just Alistair. Nice try, Eamon.

“Alistair isn’t reasonable. He doesn’t want to be reasonable. He wants to be with his woman. Now!” I sulked, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“He’s learning pretty fast, don’t you think?” Teagan chuckled. “That sounded very much like Cailan. We’d better do what his Highness wants, hm?”

“Yeah, if the king wants to see his woman you probably shouldn’t keep him waiting,” I wholeheartedly agreed with my sort-of uncle. “He might get mad, start crying, you’ll feel bad and, well... it won’t be pretty.”

“She can’t walk, you can’t walk. How do you expect to get there, your Highness?” Eamon unnervedly demanded to know.

I grinned from ear to ear as I wiggled my eyebrows at the Arl.

Ten minutes later...

“Faster, Teagan!”

“You’re no little boy anymore, Alistair,” the bann panted, running faster as he pushed the wheelbarrow down the corridor past startled servants and smirking guards. I waved graciously at my subjects, an incarnation of kingliness and dignity worthy the Theirin blood—alright, I admit, I wasn’t looking very kingly that moment, wearing my nightshirt and my bare legs dangling over the sides of the wheelbarrow.

“You saying I’m too heavy?” I laughed, clutching the sides of the wheelbarrow when Teagan slithered around a corner. “Or are you just a bit rusty?”

“Indeed. My last wheelbarrow race was way back.”

“About ten years,” I said fondly. Teagan always had been in for a race or two whenever he came to Redcliffe. We were the best wheelbarrow-racing-team ever. There was that one time when Teagan stumbled and let go of the wheelbarrow and it rushed all the way downhill from the windmill to the market place... Boy, what a ride!

“How time flies.” Teagan chortled.

Eamon followed on our heels—and wheels. “Your Highness, I have to protest! This is inappropriate behavior for a king! So many have died, so many lost their beloved, their homes...”

Really? I mean, who can stay serious when being pushed around in a wheelbarrow?

“Arl Eamon, there’s one thing I have learned from Rori during the last year: You better enjoy life whenever you get a chance because there’s a tragedy waiting around the next corner for sure.” 

Teagan had the wheelbarrow halt in front of a set of doors guarded by Ser Gilmore rolling his eyes and Darrian Tabris almost choking on biting back a laugh. “Or behind the next door,” I added with a heavy sigh.

The moment Teagan rolled me through the doors, Wynne came face to face with me, poking her finger at my chest. “Alistair, if you open your wounds up, I’m not going to heal them again. You can just treat them yourself. And if they fester, weeping bloody pus, and burn like the flames of Andraste’s pyre, don’t come to me. All I’m going to say is: Alistair, didn’t I tell you to stay in bed?”

“You didn’t specify which bed,” I offered a lopsided grin of dorky charm. Wynne just stared back at me, unfazed by said charms. “That bed over there seems as good as any other bed, right?” I croaked, my grin turning from irresistible to sheepish—alright, it had been sheepish the whole time. So much for appearing cocksure and nonchalant.

“That’s Rori’s,” Wynne said icily.

“Perfect! The day is looking up already.”

“She needs rest.”

“Alistair!” Rori’s voice sounded from a heap of blankets and pillows. “Thank the Maker you are here! And you had a wheelbarrow race! Without me!”

“My dear, wheelbarrow races are the last thing you should be worried about,” Wynne scolded her as she returned to stand at Rori’s bed with Solona. Jowan was slumped in an armchair struggling to stay awake while Avernus sat in his wheelchair as if it were a throne. All of them wore a concentrated and thoroughly worried expression. Well, not Avernus. He looked delighted. He kept rubbing his hands excitedly and his grin was somewhat... creepy. Okay, Avernus was always somewhat creepy.

With some help from Teagan and Jowan, I managed to climb into bed next to my woman. She immediately snuggled to me, resting her head at my chest. I held her close, nuzzling the top of her head. Even with the metallic stench of blood tainting the air, the faint scent of verbena was still lingering on her. She was engulfed by magic, spells so powerful I could sense them through the lyrium still circling in my blood.

“You missed the whole show,” Rori murmured as if she had read my mind. “First, Avernus and Wynne had a row—I thought they’d blow up the whole palace. And all that time Solona screamed at them to pull themselves together because I was bleeding to death. The one actually keeping me alive was Jowan. He’s totally drained, the poor lad. I don’t know how but they must have managed to settle their dispute, because when I drifted back to consciousness there were four mages hovering around me, casting spells together. It involved a whole lot of chanting and waving their hands around... and then there was this light, like glitters of gold raining down on me. And now I glow in the dark!” She pulled the blanket over our heads to show me the golden glow surrounding her. “I can totally read without a candle at night!”

“That’s amazing. Especially the part about you still being alive.” I kissed her forehead gently. 

Maker’s Breath, it felt so good to hold her!

“Hey, now your lips glow, too!” Rori giggled.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Are you alright?” Apart from glowing she didn’t look well. Her face was ashen, dark shadows beneath her eyes gave away how exhausted she was. But worse still was the sadness in her eyes that betrayed her smile. “What about the baby? The one you didn’t tell me about because...?”

“I couldn’t tell you!” Rori exclaimed, compunctiously casting her eyes down. “You would have never let me fight in the battle!”

“Damn right, my dear! How could you risk your and the baby’s lives like that!?”

“Three Grey Wardens.” She said no more. She didn’t have to. Our chances had been slim. So very slim it was a miracle we actually made it. There had been hundreds of Grey Wardens during all the other Blights before. This time there had only been three. She had been scared out of her mind, desperate and close to breaking down after Riordan’s revelation. She could have backed out of it then easily. One word about her being with child—my child and thus the heir to the throne—and she would have been tucked away safely, far far away from any darkspawn.

“How long have you known?”

“Morrigan informed me when we marched on Denerim. It was a shock. I never expected this to happen. Not after you told me about Grey Wardens being infertile.”

“She offered you a potion,” I recalled the scene in the warcamp, how upset Rori had been. “You said it was a remedy for your sickness but you didn’t drink it because of the drastic side effects... Wait! That witch-bitch tried to kill my child!”

“She meant well.”

“How can killing a baby be well-meaning!?”

“She tried to protect me. End it quickly instead of suffering through losing the child. She warned me about the consequences should I decide to fight.” Her voice was so small, choked by tears rolling down her cheeks. I cannot even imagine how torn she had to be. Still, I was furious and disappointed because she hadn’t trusted me. She left me out when we should have decided together.

“Alistair, please don’t be mad at me,” she whispered, her tears soaking my shirt. “I... I tried to tell you but you were either busy or fell asleep...”

“So it’s my fault?” I snapped, regretting at once how harsh I sounded. I didn’t even give her the chance to defend herself, but sat up, emerging from beneath the blanket. What can I say, I was feeling betrayed, helpless, I was scared... Alright, I was acting like a complete jerk.

All the while the mages couldn’t agree on anything. The bickering went on and on and all I got from it was that both Rori and the baby were in danger and they couldn’t decide what to do about it. Then Eamon got in on the discussion, urging the mages to save the baby, no matter the cost. Meaning he didn’t mind Rori kicking the bucket as long as the heir didn’t.

“Can anybody here tell me about the baby‘s condition?” I demanded to know. “The ‘pregnancy for dummies’ version, please.”

“We could stop the placenta separation...,” Solona began.

“The what?”

“You don’t want to know,” Rori muttered. “Just the basics, Sol.”

She hid beneath the blankets but I could still hear her crying. It was heartbreaking and melted my self-righteous fury away. She was suffering and I didn’t make it any easier for her. Sliding my hand under the blanket, I searched for hers to hold it. Her small cold fingers clenched around mine and she pressed her cheek against the back of my hand.

“We managed to stop the bleeding but the taint will still kill the baby,” Solona blurted out after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m... I’m sorry.”

Doom!

DOOM!

Can’t say I didn’t expect it. But there’s a mighty big difference between fearing something could happen and the real thing.

“Isn’t there anything we... you could do?” There was such a huge lump in my throat, I hardly could get the words past it.

Wynne said “No!” the same time Avernus said “Yes!”

“There is no cure for the taint,” Wynne snapped furiously. She and Avernus were like cats and dogs. Couldn’t blame her. Avernus and his dubious methods put me into templar mode whenever Rori as much as mentioned him.

“I never claimed there was.” Avernus snorted. “Not yet.”

“But you said...,” I began only to be cut short by the ancient mage.

“Don’t you have other patients to take care of? Political decisions to make?” Avernus pointedly stared at Wynne, the Guerrins, and his apprentices. Jowan and Solona got the hint and hurriedly excused themselves.

“An heir is essential for the stability of this nation. If there is a possibility to save this child...”

“Eamon, heir or not, it’s their decision,” Teagan said firmly as he led his brother out of the room.

“Do you really want to listen to whatever this... person has to say?” Wynne grouched, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Bloody blast it, yes!” Rori’s muffled voice sounded from beneath the blankets.

“My dear, I think you are making a mistake,” Wynne preached on her way towards the door.

Rori snorted loudly in reply. I could hear her rant under her breath: “Always knowing better, always lecturing. Try walking in my shoes before you judge me! Maker!”

“Spit it out already,” I sighed when Avernus rolled his wheelchair as close to the bed as possible and regarded us with undisguised curiosity.

“First, tell me how you survived slaying the archdemon,” the old geezer chuckled.

“Err... by not dying?” I offered a sheepish grin. Not as dorky as Rori’s but I, of course, had much more experience in playing the fool. She totally exaggerated it.

“There’s magic involved, right?” Avernus went on, completely unperturbed by our feigned ignorance.

“I don’t know...,” I began.

“Don’t waste my time. I’m running short of it and so are you.” He drummed his fingers at the armrest of his wheelchair. Rori and I looked at each other. She shrugged, I shrugged. I wiggled my eyebrows, she frowned. I shook my head, she nodded. Yeah, we couldn’t have made it any more obvious. 

“Are you afraid I could blackmail you?” Avernus coughed. It took me some time to figure that raspy sound actually was a laugh. “I am not interested in your political games. I am a man of science; that’s what you spared me for, isn’t it? The knowledge you gained could be very helpful for my research—and thus, helpful to you.”

“Okay, fine,” Rori said after some more shrugging and eyebrow wiggling. “We cheated. It was a ritual.”

“I knew it!” Avernus slapped his thighs. “Tell me everything about it! I need to know every tiny detail you can remember.”

So we told him about Flemeth and her daughter, about the stone circle and Mythal. He even had Rori draw the runes Morrigan had etched into my skin. And I had to describe the actual ritual... I stammered and stuttered, blushed a deeper shade of pink and drove Avernus crazy by beating around the bush instead of calling a spade a spade.

“Hmph, that’s hardly anything I could work with!” Avernus complained sullenly after our confession. “Too bad you aren’t mages. That could have made a difference.” He pocketed Rori’s sketches and steepled his fingers, regarding us once more as if we were frogs about to get dissected. “It is astonishing you are with child to begin with. Even without slaying the archdemon, your odds for having a healthy child would have been slim. When you slayed the archdemon, you absorbed an abundance of taint, more than your body can handle for long—and more than enough to poison your baby.”

“But... you said there is a cure?” Rori’s voice trembled. She kneaded her fingers nervously until I took her hands in mine.

“There isn’t,” Avernus said matter-of-factly. For him it came all down to science and research; there was no place for any emotions. It was both disturbing and comforting... Rori and I were already close to hysterics. Avernus grounded us. “I can try to keep your baby alive until it is born. I cannot guarantee the success and it requires some sacrifices... and your baby will still be born with the taint.”

“Blood magic!? You do recall I was a templar, right?” I growled menacingly. Avernus didn’t seem impressed. I blame it on the nightshirt and the splinted leg. What could I do to him? Swat him with a pillow?

“You saved your own life by taking part in a blood magic ritual. If that’s how templars act nowadays, the order has relented,” Avernus retorted with a nasty smirk.

“Why use blood magic when it cannot save the baby? The taint will kill it anyway,” Rori pointed out.

“The baby could undergo the Joining.”

“WHAT!?”

By the love of Lady Andraste!

“Haha, very funny old man!” I laughed. Neither Rori nor Avernus joined in.

Blast!

“A Grey Warden baby, that’s... that’s absolutely insane,” I croaked.

“If my calculations are correct,” Avernus went on, unperturbed by our shocked expressions and my shaking my head no until I felt dizzy, “the baby should develop a resistance against the taint throughout the pregnancy—if it survives. It wouldn’t be immune, but more likely to turn into a ghoul than die after birth. My latest research allowed me to refine the Joining. It should no longer be as deadly as it used to be. We haven’t yet had the opportunity to test it...”

”You want to use my baby as a guinea pig?!” I snarled furiously.

"No, that’s what Darrian and Gilmore are for.” Avernus dismissed my suspicion with a wave of his hand.

“Charming,” I muttered.

“And I would have another five months to improve the potion before the baby is born,” Avernus added excitedly. “The odds of survival should be fifty percent.”

“Bloody blast it!” Rori breathed. “That’s your solution? Are you nuts?”

“There’s no more but a thin line between genius and insanity,” Avernus grinned toothlessly.

“Merciful Andraste!” I groaned as I tried to imagine the consequences. “As a Grey Warden the baby would have the same nightmares we have! Always. I cannot imagine what that would do to a child. It’s insane! How could we condemn our child to such a cruel fate? Not to mention the Calling!”

“Isn’t there anything else we could do?” Rori asked meekly. She disliked Avernus’s idea as much as I did, but she wasn’t yet willing to give up. That’s Rori for you—to a T.

“This is the solution I have to offer.” The shriveled mage shrugged. “There isn’t another one I would know of.”

Blast! That was something to digest. I was stunned, staring stupidly at the wall across the room. I was feeling so numb inside that very moment... I hadn’t had time to get used to the idea of being a father. It was nothing I ever wasted much thought on. Even after becoming king and with Eamon nagging me about the heir, I never really imagined myself as a father. There was too much going on and when Rori finally told me, I was half unconscious.

Rori just sat there and chewed at her lower lip. Defiance was written all over her face. She was far from accepting the inevitable. “There has to be another way!”

“Rori,” I whispered softly, hugging her tightly. “We cannot always win. Sometimes, we lose.”

“I’ve lost too much already,” Rori hissed, going rigid in my arms. “If there’s a way of avoiding death when slaying the archdemon, then there is a way to save this baby!” She pulled the blanket over her head once more, muttering to herself.

“Rori?” I asked after some time had passed.

“Shush! I’m thinking!”

Avernus dozed off in his wheelchair. I tried to scratch my leg beneath the bandage and finally noticed my dear companions had adorned it with best wishes for me to get well soon while I had been asleep. Oghren had drawn a huge... uhm... asparagus with two... err.. circles at the bottom and scribbled ‘Keep it up!’ onto my leg. ‘Softie!—Best Wishes from Shale’ stood next to ‘You’re on your last leg, Alistair, my royal friend.’ ‘Hmph. Not bad for a basra.’ was to be found on my shin, bracketed by two large paw prints. ‘I pray for you—Leliana’ was visible in very twirly handwriting. Wynne had left several ‘Stay in bed!’ and ‘Don’t scratch!’ notes all across my leg.

Charming.

I chuckled, thinking fondly of my companions while I squeezed a pencil into the bandage to scratch my itching skin.

“AHA! The Urn of Sacred Ashes!” Rori blurted out, suddenly emerging from the blanket. 

Startled, I broke the pencil, half of it now stuck inside my bandage. Blast! While I tried to wiggle it out with my little finger, Rori excitedly bounced up and down in bed.

“If the Guardian allowed us to cure Eamon, he certainly won’t deny us saving an innocent child,” Rori rejoiced. She wiggled around in bed giddily until a scathing glare from the mage had her freeze. “Andraste’s ashes certainly would cure the baby—and us,” she explained her trail of thoughts. “They could cure the taint, right? Without any blood magic involved.”

“Haven is several days away,” I mused, pulling forcefully at my now stuck finger. “Many darkspawn haven’t yet returned to the Deep Roads. They could cause another delay.”

“The baby won’t survive that long,” Avernus said matter-of-factly. “We have done the utmost but our magic is already fading. It cannot protect the child for much longer. I admit, the ashes of Andraste herself could indeed be an artifact so powerful it could cure the taint itself. However, even if Rori could travel—and she can’t—you’d never get there in time, unless you allow me to perform the ritual I mentioned before.”

“The one that requires a sacrifice?” By the look on Rori’s face she was indeed considering this option. Maker! Even I was considering it, if only for a brief moment.

“One each day,” Avernus corrected.

“One each... Maker!” Any consideration went out the window that moment.

“Don’t you have any convicts awaiting their execution?” Avernus suggested. “It doesn’t matter how they die, does it?”

“It doesn’t, right?” Rori agreed coolly.

“Whoa! Wait! Rori, I need to talk to you. Alone. Now.”

“Does your conscience prick you?” the old mage chuckled as he rolled his wheelchair toward the door. “Aren’t you king now? A conscience is nothing you can afford, son. But you are one to always find out the hard way.”  
I turned to Rori as soon as we were alone. She pouted, tears streaming down her face. Her arms crossed in front of her chest, she refused to look at me.

“Rori, please, this is not the right thing to do—and you know it... Blast! Could you perhaps give me a hand? My finger got stuck!”

“I am trying to save our baby!” she snapped. “Avernus is right—who cares how some convicts die?” Unnervedly she examined my hand. “I’ll have to cut it open.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Well, we could also cut the finger off, but opening the bandage sounds like the better solution to me.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Despite the situation I couldn‘t help grinning. I sobered quite quickly though. “Blood magic, Rori! The real über-evil! How can you even consider this?” I was tempted to grab her by her shoulders and shake her, if not for my finger still stuck in that blasted bandage.

“Why not!?” Rori cried. She had the cutest hiccup as she sobbed. Maker, she was so young and vulnerable, she had endured too much already. And yet she still tried to live her dream—cost be damned. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to save our child, too... but not at any cost. “In the end, they are dead. They can at least be of some use in the process!”

“You have seen blood magic at work—Uldred, Caladrius—do you really want to be like them?”

“It’s nothing like that!” Rori muttered defiantly, finally freeing my finger. “Ferelden needs stability. The succession to the throne is of vital importance...”

“Finding excuses now like Loghain?” I cut her short. “Rori, Avernus isn’t even sure his ritual works!”

“Bloody blast it!” she screamed, drumming her small fists against my chest until I caught them in my hands. “We at least should give it a try!”

“Rori, do you remember when we found Branka in the Deep Roads?” I whispered breathlessly, pressing her hands to my chest. “You made me promise to stop you should you ever overstep the line and become like her.”

Slapping her across the face couldn’t have silenced her more effectively. She stared at me, eyes puffed, cheeks smeared with tears, all snotty nosed and hair a tousled mess of red curls. She didn’t say a word, just cried silently and hugged herself.

A pang of guilt stabbed my heart. Maker preserve me! If she had begged me then, I would have faltered.  
But she didn’t. She slumped against me, clinging to me as she cried. And I held her close, crying with her. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make in my whole life. It was the right thing to do and yet it felt so terribly wrong it tore me apart inside.

So much for “And they lived happily ever after.”


	2. On Top Of The World Or In The Depths Of Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to fabulous Notevensorry for pre-reading. I wouldn't know what to do without her.
> 
> Thanks to Ashley Reid for professionally editing this chapter.
> 
> Art commission by onehundred-fandoms at the end of the chapter. Visit her on tumblr: http://onehundred-fandoms.tumblr.com/

“You shouldn't marry me.”

“Huh? What?”

“You shouldn't marry me. I mean it, Alistair,” Rori repeated, her voice so very small and desperate it startled me out of my grieving stupor and the comfort of my woman’s embrace.

“Ah, I see you haven’t given up on the Orlesian leave yet. Live in sin, eat cake, drop the whole responsibility on Anora... I admit it sounds tempting.”

“It does, doesn't it?” Rori sighed sadly with a face as long as a fiddle. Don’t get me wrong, she had every reason to be desperately unhappy. I wasn’t overjoyed myself, but actually I counted on Rori. Her stubbornness usually prevented her from ever giving up easily. It wasn’t like her to throw in the towel. “Just don’t mention the cake to Sten. We’ll never get rid of him if you do.” Now that was a smile. A tiny one. A sad one. But it was a smile. 

“No, seriously, Alistair, marrying me is a very bad idea.”

“I shouldn't marry you, you say? Hmm…” I mused, tapping my index finger against my chin thoughtfully. “I suppose could marry Anora instead. Now, wouldn't she be delighted? Or that greedy little bitch that hit on me when we visited the Gnawed Noble... What was her name?”

“Habren Bryland,” Rori hissed, sounding very, very sour and far from fading away in her grief. I grinned and she frowned, pressing her lips to a thin line to prevent the corners of her mouth from twitching. I wiggled my eyebrows and her resistance broke into a wide grin. She swatted at me in amused annoyance. “I am trying to be reasonable here. You need to find a wife.”

“As far as I know I have one lined up.” I said softly. “You might know her. Feisty little redhead, stubborn as a mule, and with a big mouth...”

“ALISTAIR! I am trying to be serious!”

“That’s what you keep telling me. Unfortunately I don't think we need any more seriousness right now.”

“I've thought about it...” Rori went on, determined to ignore anything I had to say.

“Oh, okay, it’s THAT serious...”

“Stop being a dork!” Rori laughed. It made her wince, the skin on her face still red and raw despite the magical healing that had eased the burning. She lifted her hand to punch me in the chest. I looked miserable enough to have her stop. My leg wasn’t the only part of my body bandaged. Neither of us looked very heroic that moment.

“That's like telling me to stop breathing.”

“Blast it, Alistair!” Rori sat up straight, breaking free from my embrace and thus stopping my attempt to nibble her earlobe while she tried to convince me to terminate our engagement. “Don't make this any harder for me...” She ran her fingers through what was left of her hair. Nobody had yet made the effort to cut the scorched curls. They had been too busy saving her life. “You need an heir, and with me this will not be possible. I didn’t want to accept this and lose you. But... now I see I cannot give you what you need, what this country needs... Being king won’t be easy. Your heritage never got confirmed officially. I will only make it harder for you. As long as there’s no heir they will circle you like vultures. Marry some pure blood noble from one of the families opposing you.”

“Whoa! Wait! Rori, did you hit your head? Did the blood loss make you dizzy? Did they drug you?”

“All of that,” she admitted with a sheepish grin.

“We both already knew about the heir problem when you declared our engagement at the Landsmeet. That’s why you did that after all, didn’t you? And I’ve fought against an archdemon; I’m not afraid of vultures.”

“I... I was being selfish then. I thought I could make it happen somehow... I wish you could have stayed a Grey Warden.”

“Well, I am king and as you keep saying, nobody can tell me what to do. As for the heir, it’s a miracle you actually conceived. I don't see why it shouldn't happen again...”

“That was before I slayed the archdemon. Its poison seeped into me. How can a baby survive in such an environment?” Rori said with apparent frustration. I wasn’t sure if it was my refusal to give in or the state of her body’s condition that got to her.

“What? No ‘bloody blast it, let's give it a try?’” I couldn’t understand why she would insist. Our love had been her fortress—the source of her strength. For me it had always been too good to be true, and I expected this happiness to come to an end any minute. I was sure I didn’t deserve it, suspicious at how long it lasted. I still couldn’t believe we both survived. Actually, that was the moment when I first began to accept that there indeed could be some happiness meant for me for real. And now Rori—Little Miss I Don't Give A Damn—wanted to sacrifice this happiness for what? Duty? Responsibility? Then, a terrible suspicion occurred to me. “You're not saying this so you can make a deal with Avernus, are you, Rori?”

“That's what you think of me?” The smile she hadn’t managed to bite back was wiped off her face. I knew at once I had messed up with panache. “What does that say about us?”

Doom!

In capital letters.

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

“No, I don’t... I... I’m sorry, kitten...,” I stammered as she turned away from me, pulling the blanket over her head once more in her ostrich-manner.

“I terminate our engagement, Alistair,” her muffled sobs sounded from her hiding place.

Blast!

Somehow I hadn't really taken this seriously. I was sure I could just charm her by being the dork she had fallen in love with—until I put my foot in my mouth and proved to be a complete fool.

“Listen, I’m sorry...”

“Please leave me alone.”

Her only saying it wouldn’t have stopped me. But she rang the bell and shortly later I was sitting in a wheelbarrow again. Just this time there was no race. I felt like I was being carted to my own funeral.

One moment I was holding my love in my arms and despite yet another tragedy and more grief I was confident that together, we would make it through. I had never wanted to cling to that belief, had first refused to acknowledge it was Rori giving me strength all throughout the Blight. Rori, well, that was a different story. She made no bones about how important our love was to her. Everything she had done during the Landsmeet and when she persuaded me to take part in Morrigan's ritual—she did it so we could stay together.

Now she refused to talk to me and cried into her pillow. I did the very same—alone in a room that now was mine and yet alien to me.

“Is there a reason you bawl like a lil' gal?”

“Oghren, no offense meant... but you really are the very last person I want to see right now,” I groaned, burying my face deeper in my pillow, when the dwarf slumped down on the bed beside me. He wore a sling around one arm and reeked of booze and of… well, Oghren. “All I want to do is rest...”

“You can rest when you are dead, my dear friend,” Zevran climbed into bed from the other side.

Oh no! No, no, no! Did the Maker know no mercy?

“I'm developing a death wish rather quickly today,” I muttered and did the ostrich myself. “Go away!”

“And leave our favorite bastard king alone? One could hear you and Rori wail all the way down the corridor, my sad royal friend.”

“Then why don't you bother her?” I sighed, sitting beneath my blanket that didn’t offer any protection at all against a dwarf, an elf, and the nastiness of life.

“We didn't get past the golem,” Zevran admitted. “The mage ladies are with Rori...” His voice trailed off.

“Avernus, too?” I asked, emerging from my blanket cave. I had to see Zevran’s expression—sure, the assassin could have fooled me a thousand times and I wouldn’t have noticed once. I still wanted him to look me in the eyes. The suspicion was gnawing at me. Any attempt to suppress it just catapulted it back to the surface. Nothing Rori had said made any sense... Alright, not true, she had made perfect sense. All reasonable and responsible and selfless... She did what I would have done if not for her initiative at the Landsmeet. I had been prepared back then... kinda. It would have torn me apart but I would have sacrificed my love for the sake of my kingdom— but that was then. Rori made me do what I wanted instead of what was expected of me. And now she was forcing me to do what I should instead of what I wanted.

Feeling dizzy already? Well, I did for sure.

“Only Solona and Wynne,” Zevran mumbled. It was pretty obvious he didn’t know what to say or do. “Shouldn’t you be with Rori?”

Solona and Wynne... That meant she didn't make a deal with Avernus, right? Right?

It also meant that the baby was lost. Without Avernus there was no hope.

I was suddenly feeling very very sick.

“She doesn’t want me with her.” No surprise. My accusation didn’t sit well with her. Maker! Why hadn’t I just kept my mouth shut? Her resolve had already been wavering. I had seen it in her smile. And then I went and messed it all up! I should have been with her, should have held her hand, should have given her comfort and strength... Instead, I got drunk.

“Need some solace?” Zevran waved his bottle at me.

“You think I will find it at the bottom of a bottle?” I took the whiskey from Zevran before he could give me a tight hug. I stared suspiciously, both at the booze and the intrusive elf.

“Lad, I’ve emptied a whole lot of bottles, and solace was nowhere to be seen,” Oghren grunted. He smacked his lips and lifted his bottle to his mouth. “One never knows, though; the next bottle might be the one.”  
Solace could neither be found at the bottom of the first nor the second bottle. We kept trying while I told the whole heartbreaking story that had torn Rori and I apart.

“Women!” Oghren burped. “Nothing but trouble!” He farted loudly, then with relish scratched his hindquarters.

Now that was attractive!

“Your word in the Maker's ear, my sturdy little friend.” Zevran—naked but for his smallclothes—rose his bottle to the dwarf.

I sat between them and didn’t give a damn. Boy, I was whistled drunk! Or pissed as a newt, as Oghren would say.

“Alistair, my dear friend,” the elf slurred. “You have to recapture her heart!”

“Aye,” Oghren agreed. “Ya’ll need someone to rule this kingdom for ya.”

“She dumped me,” I pointed out sullenly.”Just like that.” I threw the empty bottle on the floor and it shattered into glittering shards. “There. Broken. Can’t be repaired,” Solace still wasn't anywhere at the bottom of any bottle; they were all filled to the brim with self-pity.

Zevran smacked the back of my head. “Brasca! Alistair, my idiot friend, let a man who made a mistake give you a piece of advice: If you love that girl, don’t let her go”

“What do you know about love, skirt chaser?” I sulked, convinced that I was the one and only man in this world ever suffering from a broken heart.

“I once loved a woman...”

“One?” Oghren snorted his drink out of his nose. “More like a thousand...”

“An Antivan pearl by the name of Rianna,” the elf said dreamily. “Nothing and no one compared to her. No one ever will.”

“What happened?” I asked sympathetically.

“I killed her,” he whispered hoarsely, clinging to his bottle as if it could offer any comfort. “I convinced myself that love was a foolish weakness... and destroyed myself when destroying her.”

“But... you never said a word!” I blurted out. Until then I had thought Zevran to be... well, Zevran. I had hardly ever heard him talk about anything but bosoms, hindquarters, leather, and sex. Usually all at once.

“I try to forget what cannot be forgotten. That doesn’t work when talking about it all the bloody time,” Zevran muttered. “I’m telling you this, my friend, because you and Rori belong together. As for your heir, in Antiva, royal bastards have a long tradition. Why shouldn’t Ferelden follow this example? You can always have a bastard with another woman, problem solved.”

“Hmph, you really think he’s man enough for that? It’s a mystery how he found his way between Rori’s legs,” Oghren grunted. “If not for her, I’d wonder if he was into girls at all.”

“Hey!”

“Alas, still waters run deep,” Zevran chortled, wrapping his arm around my shoulder proudly. “This dear friend of mine boarded an infamous pirate queen.”

“Aye, good on you, son,” Oghren smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at me. “Does Rori know about that?”

“She took part.”

“What the nug!?” Oghren sat there, slackjawed, drool dripping from the corners of his mouth. “Sodding nug-humper!” He punched my arm. “Next time just let me know and I’m all in. Now, gimme high five!”

“Err... thank you, I guess.”

“The knife-eared pipe cleaner is right, son. You listen to old Oghren, don’t let anybody tell you who you should marry. Best not to marry at all, if you ask my opinion...”

“You only just asked me to be your best man for your wedding with Felsi,” Zevran pointed out. “What did she do to force a brave man like you to enter into matrimony?”

“Bah, she has a bun in the oven,” Oghren muttered under his breath.

“Oh, so we're going to hear the pitter-patter of little dwarven feet soon?” Zevran cheered, scrambling across me to hug the dwarf who so didn’t want to get hugged. In the end, they both fell out of bed in a heap of arms and legs and the dwarf called the elf a whole lot of very nasty names.

“Congrats,” I mumbled, toasting with my drinking buddies, wondering when and if there ever would be the pitter-patter of little royal feet. I had always dreamt of a family, even after becoming a Grey Warden and learning about our... handicap. It hadn’t mattered as long as I had convinced myself that the Grey Wardens were my family. But deep down inside I had always longed for the real thing. I had to get trapped in the Fade by a sloth demon to finally realize what I truly dreamt of.

“Felsi was my first gal. But my family chose Branka for me instead.” Oghren shrugged. “You know the rest of the story. That crazy nug-licker of a woman ruined my life. And I drowned the rest in booze. Felsi has to be as crazy, giving me another chance.”

“See, if even Oghren gets a second chance...”

“Third chance...”

By the look on Zevran’s face, he—like myself—wondered about Felsi’s taste in men. We had met her at the Spoiled Princess some time ago. Feisty, with a sharp tongue but actually quite pretty. Maybe there was something wrong with her eyesight. Her sense of smell. Her hearing.

Later that night I lay awake. Partly because Oghren was snoring so loudly he sounded like the archdemon breathing into my ear. Partly because Zevran had snuggled to me, lying half on top of me. Partly because my head was spinning. Mostly because I missed Rori like crazy. I stared into the gloom, at the wrecked furniture and broken mirror, the torn curtains blowing in the wind like spectres in the dark. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders and really terribly, terribly sorry for myself...

Stop being pathetic? You do sound like Morrigan. Ah, there it is, that eye-roll! Witch-bitch-alert! Hey! Don't hit me! I bruise easily!

If you already think this was pathetic, I’m going to save you a detailed description of how I suffered and wallowed in self-pity the next day, my face as long as a fiddle.

I knew you'd appreciate it.

By the time I emerged from my the-world-hates-poor-Alistair-stupor I had a plan. Why do you sound so damn surprised? It was a simple plan, okay? It involved a ring (that I didn't have), me on my knees (almost impossible with a splinted leg), and a convincing proposal (preferably one without stammering, stuttering, or putting my foot in my mouth).

Like I said, simple plan. I never claimed it was a good one.

Actually, I was quite aware I had absolutely no clue how to get this done. The idea had come to me at the break of dawn of yet another sleepless—and thankfully elfless and dwarfless—night. I left my room—formerly Cailan’s, he had carved his name into the bedpost—and hobbled down the stairs that led into the park.

It’s a rather fancy place by Fereldan standards, meadows and a small forest with a lake and a grotto—blame Meghren. There’s a whole lot of half and completely starkers statues all over the place—again, Meghren's fault—and tons of awfully ugly putti—also Meghren, most of them decapitated, courtesy of yours truly. Yeah, sometimes after a long, hard, and utterly frustrating day, I just walk into the park and decapitate an Orlesian putto. See, meditation has never worked for me. You can ask the sisters back at the Chantry. And no! Back then I didn’t decapitate anybody or anything! The statue of Andraste... that was an accident!

I plucked a flower, a daisy. I slit a hole into the stalk with my fingernail and with some effort threaded the end of the stalk through the hole. It was a very poor version of a ring but the sight of the soft white petals surrounding a dot of bright yellow made me smile involuntarily.

There are moments when I feel it’s totally inappropriate to smile—and still there it is, forcing its way onto my face. Rori taught me to not only to accept, but enjoy these outbursts of unexpected and fleeting happiness. So I grinned foolishly, felt the warmth of the first rays of the rising sun on my face and felt the grass, moist with dew, beneath my bare feet—and stepped into dog poop.

“Blast it! What the...? Barkley!”

I swear he was smirking.

Sighing, I wiped my foot clean in the grass. “How’s Rori?”

The mabari ducked his head, tucked his tail, and whined.

“That well, huh?” I sat down on a stone next to the dog carefully, slowly, feeling like a very old man. No wonder Avernus was so fond of his wheelchair. All I got was crutches. Hmph. “Barkley, I need your help... Err, that’s really sweet but you don’t have to share your dog cookie with me... Listen, it’s about Rori. I want to ask her to marry me... It has to be perfect. A candlelit dinner, hundreds of red roses, a starlit canopy stretching above us...”

Barkley snorted.

“It’s not cheesy! It’s romantic! Bah! You think the way to a woman’s heart is sniffing her hindquarters!”

The dog barked happily and wagged his tail.

“You’ve got your methods, I’ve got mine. The tricky part is when I ask her... Okay, so you are Rori...”

The mabari growled lowly.

“I know you’re not really Rori! Just pretend you are. Don’t you possess any imagination?”

Barkley gave me his best puppy-dog eyes, then with a giddy, excited yelp, he pounced me exuberantly, throwing me off the stone backwards, and slobbered all over my face.

“Yeah, that's Rori alright,” I chuckled when the huge warhound sat on top of me, wagging his tail. “Whoa! Get down, Rori! You’re squishing me! Boy, you put on some weight, didn't you? OW! Hey! Don't bite me! Sit! SIT! Good girl.”

Barkley lifted his hind leg.

“Fine! I'm sorry. You're right, this won't help getting her back... although she’d look incredibly hot with a collar like yours... And you have to admit, sometimes leashing her would make things a lot easier... Maker’s Breath! Whew... It’s already quite hot, don’t you think?”

Barkley nudged my side with his large head, growling lowly.

“You’re right, shouldn’t waste time fantasizing about Rori and a dog’s collar.” I struggled to get up and struggled some more to kneel down. It was awfully uncomfortable with the splinted leg, but I wanted things to be perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

So, I took Barkley’s paw in my hand, held up the daisy ring, and looked him deep in the eyes.

“Rori,” I began hesitantly. I cleared my throat. Cleared it again. Maker! How could this be so difficult? “You know I love you... or maybe you don’t... Could you please stop drooling? It’s distracting...”

Barkley pulled his tongue in and shut his mouth.

“Thank you... Err...” I grinned foolishly, trying to recover my trail of thought. Not that I had much of a plan of what to say. “I haven’t exactly been chivalrous or gallant since you made me king..."

There was my reaction to her declaring our engagement. Sure, she took me by surprise. And there was Eamon breathing down my neck, nagging me about an heir. It wasn’t a joyous moment, nothing like Rori would have deserved it. And I still felt like a jerk about it.

“Tragedy has brought us together,” I whispered, gently stroking Barkley’s paw with my thumb. “But us, you and I, our relationship, has never been a tragedy. Well, perhaps sometimes. Like right now it sure is... Blast! I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, you brought happiness to my life when I least expected it. I’m not prepared to let you go. I won’t say you don’t have a point. ‘Long live the king, long may he reign!’ and so forth. ‘Pray to the Maker he doesn’t do something stupid...’ A wise king would choose a political marriage over a marriage for love... That would be selfless and heroic... and it would leave me heartbroken for the rest of my life,” I whispered in a choked voice. The mere thought of losing her forever made me tear up.

Barkley threw his head back and howled.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that pathetic!” I sulked.

The dog gave a sharp woof.

“Alright, it is pathetic. I am going to pull myself together, okay? Are you content now?”

The dog licked my face—I took that as his approval.

“I miss you like crazy,” I went on, already sounding far more composed and manly and strong. Not cute, mind you. I for sure was anything but cute. “I don’t know many things...”

Barkley whined.

“Actually, I know less than nothing...”

Barkley whined louder.

“Hey, this is the essential part, so would you please act as if you were at least somehow touched and impressed?”

The dog whined.

“But of this I am sure: I do not want to live without you. Not ever.”

Barkley pulled his paw away and pressed himself flat to the ground. He whined pathetically and covered his eyes with his paws.

A shadow cast over me.

Doom!

DOOM!

“She’s standing right behind me, isn’t she…”

The dog barked.

“You could at least have warned me,” I huffed.

The dog growled and I slowly turned to meet my fate. I felt like a complete fool, kneeling there with that wimpy daisy ring in my hand. So much for perfection.

She stood there, catching me in another embarrassing situation like the day we first met back at Ostagar. Her red hair was cut short, not much longer than mine, her large blue eyes twinkled with amusement in her pale heartshaped face. My shirt and her boots was all she wore. To me, she couldn't have been more beautiful in the fanciest ball dress. She looked exhausted, drained— still, a shy, impish smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“You’re not wasting time trying to find a new bride,” Rori teased, She clasped her hands and shifted her weight uneasily, her face flushed prettily. “Eamon will be delighted.”

“It’s as Zevran said, ‘Fereldans cannot sleep without their dogs.’” I grinned foolishly, wishing I could just Poof! and save myself from this most embarrassing confrontation. “Err... what exactly did you hear?”

“Just about everything.”

“Blast!” I blushed a deeper shade of crimson. Even my ears were glowing. “Bloody blast it! I wanted this to be perfect but I guess it never will be. Nothing ever has but you. You get what you see. This is all I can offer. I just pray it will be enough.” She didn’t pull away when I took her hand in mine.

“Alistair...” Rori whispered hoarsely. There was a deep sorrow in her eyes that didn’t sit well with me.

“You said I should take care of myself more often,” I hurriedly blurted out before she could once again be the reasonable, responsible one. “So that’s what I am doing. And the king taking care of himself is also a bit taking care of his kingdom, isn’t it?”

“Alistair, I’m sorry...”

I didn’t want to listen. I felt like falling. There was nothing to lose anyway, so I kept going. “You're not yet done, young lady,” I said firmly. “Ferelden needs you. Your mission, should you accept it, is to marry me!”

“Is this a command, my prince?” Rori asked, a roguish grin arching her beautiful lips. The gloom in her eyes faded in the brilliance of her smile. I was bewitched.

“Very much so.”

Rori saluted and clicked her heels. “Then count me in on his Majesty’s service!”

“Wh-what? That’s a yes? Just like that?”

“What can I say? I’m a patriot!”

“That’s my girl!” I smiled and sild the daisy ring onto her finger.

“Nice ring,” She laughed as I pulled her onto my lap. My leg was killing me. I couldn't have cared less since I was kissing the woman I loved. It felt like our very first kiss, hesitant at first, excitement making our hearts beat like battle drums. The taste of her soft lips, the velvet sensation of her tongue stroking mine. This one kiss was all the comfort I had longed for.

“So, strange story,” I said. my arms safely wrapped around her. I wasn’t going to let go of her. Barkley was guarding her, too. The leash returned to my mind. It would have suited her prettily. “Tell me if you heard this one: This fellow is dumped by his woman the other day and gets engaged with her the very next day.”

Grinning sheepishly, Rori blushed. “I’m so sorry, Alistair,” she muttered compunctiously. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I was... Oh, how can I explain? All this time I’ve tried to make things right for us against all odds. The engagement, the ritual, the final battle. I did all that so we could be together. I killed our baby... If I had told you... If I had let you slay the archdemon...” She shook her head sadly, tears welling up in her eyes. “Losing the baby felt like a just punishment for everything I had done selfishly... I wanted to make it right again...”

“So the baby is...?” I breathed.

Rori nodded, unable to meet my eyes. She sat upright in my lap, her back very straight, her head hung low. Still she trembled. Tears dropped onto her hands, folded in her lap. “Sol and Wynne broke the spells that kept it alive. Afterwards it all happened very fast...”

“I am so sorry. I should have been with you.” I hugged her, gently kissing her tears away. Her clinging to me was my comfort. You just don’t break down and wail when your woman needs you to be strong.

“You are with me,” she whispered.

“We will have another baby,” I said and bit my tongue the moment the words had left my mouth. I figured she would bite my head off for that.

“What makes you so sure about it?” Rori asked curiously. No offense taken. Whew!

“You do.” I said softly, earning myself the sweetest smile. “Shouldn't you be in bed and rest?” I sternly glared at her. She certainly wasn’t meant to walk around and eavesdrop on her ex-paramour and new soon-to-be-husband.

“Probably. Wynne will throw a fit later. I couldn’t stand staying in that room any longer. It reeks of death and despair.”

“You can move in with me. My room reeks of smelly socks and drunken men.”

“I’m already swooning over it,” Rori sniffled, wiping her nose at her sleeve. I handed my handkerchief to her.

“But why terminate the engagement? I still don’t understand.”

“I know it’s stupid...” Rori sighed, kneading the now soaked handkerchief in her hands. “I somehow thought giving up what I love most, making a sacrifice that would hurt me most, would save the baby. He was innocent. He shouldn’t have to pay for my sins. I thought if I paid, the baby would be spared. It didn’t change a thing. The baby died. And I...” She shrugged helplessly. “I just couldn't resist the cutest proposal ever.”

“It wasn’t cute!”

She kissed the tip of my nose. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Commisssion Art by onehundred-fandoms aka Erusel


	3. Bittersweet Symphony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professional grammar nerd Ashley Reid edited this chapter. Thank you so much, hon!

Rori stretched out her arm, regarding the daisy ring on her finger with a smile that couldn’t have been any brighter if it had been a diamond instead.

We lay in the grass together, Rori’s head resting at my shoulder, my arm tightly wrapped around her. I was grinning stupidly from ear to ear, still feeling slightly goofy for her witnessing me proposing to her dog.

This was one of those few moments of happiness we had learned to cherish, knowing all too well it wouldn’t last. The Blight had left us damaged. That it hadn’t completely destroyed us was due to the happy memories we had collected like small treasures.

I had such a little treasure box as a child. Smooth stones, snail shells, colorful potsherds... it was my life in a wooden box, minus my mother’s amulet. The sisters threw my treasures away as soon as I arrived. Redcliffe had been in that box; my whole life story told by these worthless objects. It was all wiped out then and the loss made me bitter. Rori taught me to value the memories nobody could ever take away from me. Next to the ones I collected with her, I began to recover those from my past.

“You’ll get a real ring of course,” I muttered. “A future queen should have something fancy, right?”

“This one is perfect.”

“It's only a daisy I plucked,” I protested.

“Exactly.”

“The busar will love your modesty,” I chuckled when she nuzzled my nose.

“Especially since the treasury is empty. Loghain spent a fortune searching for Maric. And the rest went out the window when he decided to start a civil war. Blasted bastard. He brewed it, we must drink.”

“King of a war-ravaged country and broke... If we left now for Orlais and cake, how far do you think we would get before they noticed we’re missing?” I sighed, wondering if there ever would be another moment in my life when I did not have to be king. I could have kicked myself for having mentioned our precarious pecuniary situation.

“In our condition?” Rori laughed, knocking her knuckles at the solid bandage on my leg. “The stables?”

“Blast! Then what do we do?” I groaned, rubbing my face tiredly. Responsibility everywhere! I would never sleep well again! Alright, the way Rori’s soft bosom pressed against my chest, I could think of exertions that would exhaust me enough to sleep like a log. “We can’t even sell the silverware. That ran away with Goldanna.”

“Time will tell.” Rori said confidently.

“That’s how you intend to rule this nation? Now, that’s just brilliant!”

“Right? I’m an incredibly smart girl!” Rori giggled. Her smile disappeared as she went on: “We’ve got a lot problems to solve. It all feels like back when we were standing in front of Flemeth’s hut with the fate of Ferelden in our hands. I didn’t believe we could make it, and look where we are now!”

“You didn’t think we had a chance?” I put my hands over my heart, feigning a shocked expression. “You fooled me all the time then? How dare you?”

“I had to ‘bloody blast it give it a try,’ right? When will we again get the chance to save the world?”

“I don't know about you, but I surely won’t do it again,” I declared vehemently. “Next time, they can go find someone else. And if the blasted sky is torn, rampant demons everywhere, mages running amok, templars turning their backs on the Chantry, a darkspawn overlord on a mission to conquer...”

“Stop! The Blight starts to sound like a vacation compared to that,” Rori laughed.

“Whatever, I won’t be the one to fix it.”

“Same here.” Rori agreed wholeheartedly.

“Although… it sounds more fun than being king,” I added sullenly. “Rori, I don’t think I can do this. The whole king…thing.”

“Shush!” Rori commanded as she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. Afterwards I couldn’t think of anything anymore anyway. So I just grinned foolishly and nodded to everything she said. “We can only try to make the best of it.” Pause. “Every man is the architect of his own fortune.”

“Have you been reading one of those motto calendars?”

“How did you know?” Rori wondered.

“I’ve got one in my room. Cailan scribbled little notes on each page. Mostly his thoughts read ‘blah blah blah,’ which in many cases is an apt summary of the motto.”

“Oriana once had Nan bake wisdom cookies with a smart quote on a piece of paper hidden inside. Fergus stuffed his right into his mouth, paper and all, when Oriana had only just explained the whole idea to him in detail,” Rori giggled. “Perfect proof of men never listening to their women.”

“Huh? Did you say something?”

“Jerk!”

“King Jerk, if you please!”

We goofed around some more until Wynne found us. “Is something wrong with your hearing? What did you not understand about ‘Stay in bed!’?”... blah blah blah... have a responsibility...blah blah blah... don’t you come running to me... blah blah blah... have a whole lot of other patients...”

She of course didn’t say blah blah blah. I just didn’t pay much attention because Rori was making faces behind Wynne’s back and I had to try really hard not to laugh out loud.

“Rori Cousland, stop mowing behind my back!”

“Err...” Rori blushed violently. “Sorry?”

“How can she know? Do you think she has magical eyes at the back of her head?” I wondered.

Wynne had just stuck us both into bed when Eamon sailed in with Teagan in tow and some kingly business to take care of. Or maybe he just wanted to keep me informed. I wasn’t yet sure what he expected of me. Or what anybody expected of me, for that matter.

Eamon wasn’t delighted to see Rori next to me in bed. “There are rumors you terminated your engagement,” he greeted my woman.

“That's right. But then Alistair proposed and I said yes, so this is a new engagement. Much better than the first. It was his decision, not mine. Well, mine, too. Ours.” Rori beamed, bouncing around in bed. “I even got a ring!” She proudly showed a completely aghast Eamon her daisy.

“Well, that saves us from finding a wife for him, doesn’t it?” Teagan patted his brother’s back comfortingly, winked at me and gave me a thumbs up.

Eamon slumped down on an armchair that had seen better days. It was pretty much torn to pieces and not very comfortable anymore. I doubt the Arl of Redcliffe cared. “Your Highness, the city is mostly destroyed. There’s still some darkspawn wreaking havoc. Many people are dead, more injured. We have put up a makeshift hospital at the market place but the weather is going to change. We expect rain; it will turn the city into a puddle of mud and epidemics are likely to spread. Then there’s those with the darkspawn taint—we have not yet managed to quarantine them.”

“Why don’t we locate the hospital at the palace?” I wondered out loud, completely overwhelmed by the mass of problems that suddenly were mine.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, there’s the entrance hall, it’s huge,” I began hesitantly, grinning sheepishly. I wouldn't have said anything at all if Rori hadn’t kept nudging me. “And it has a roof. Same with the ballroom. There won’t be any balls anytime soon, will there? The chapel is pretty big, too. The mages and healers would all be in one place and wouldn't have to run around the city. We can defend the palace easily against any darkspawn. There’s a hunting lodge in the park; why not house those with the taint there?”

“This... is not possible, your Highness!”

“Why not?” I pouted.

“You explain it to him,” Eamon sighed, waving his hand tiredly at Rori as he sunk deeper into the armchair.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea!” Rori rejoiced.

“He is the king!” Arl Eamon snapped. “He cannot mingle with the common people!”

“Eamon, he grew up amongst them. He is one of them,” Rori pointed out patiently but with vigor. “You cannot expect Alistair to suddenly forget where he came from. He will never be that aloof. Yes, some nobles won’t like it, but they will also not like him being a bastard and his mother no more than a maid. So, instead of making him jump through hoops, let him be who he is. He’ll be a great king that way.”

Stunned silence.

“He’ll make an extraordinary king, you know,” Teagan said with pride.

“We still cannot feed all those people.” Eamon went on. “And there’s the riots in the streets; raiders steal everything that is not nailed down.”

“Talk to Levi Dryden,” Rori suggested. “There should be provisions stored at Warden’s Peak. We only have to get them here.” It was part of the deal Rori had made with Levi when she had invested in his business. “Tell him to contact Lord Orion in Antiva. He is... was Fergus’s father-in-law. He and Levi met a while ago to form trade ties.” And Rori’s letter had made sure Orion was more than willing to assist wherever he could. His daughter’s and grandson’s deaths had made him a loyal ally. All Rori had to do was promise she’d avenge Oriana and Oren. “It was Levi’s idea to find a foreign merchant to interpose when making deals for Ferelden. The rest of Thedas knows we are desperate. They will have us pay through the nose.”

“She’ll make an extraordinary queen, you know,” Teagan said, winking at Rori while Eamon regarded us thoughtfully.

“And the raiders?”

“Just give Sten enough men and he will gladly knock them down a peg,” Rori said cheerfully. “Restoring order, that’s something he’ll so love to do! Just don’t forget to reward him with cookies or we’ll face a Qunari invasion as soon as he gets back home.”

“Very well,” Eamon agreed sounding rather astonished. “We’ll do it your way.” He rose from his armchair, bowed curtly, and left with Teagan in tow. “The little Cousland could be right. Maybe we will all have to get used to an unconventional way of ruling.”

“Whoa!” I gasped, bouncing around on the bed excitedly. “Did I just rule? I did, didn’t I? Like for real! Making decisions for my kingdom, my people! I believe... I did something good, right?”

“You did what your heart told you to do,” Rori confirmed with a smile of pride. “You have a heart of gold, Alistair. Listen to it; it won't betray you.”

“Oh boy! If I go on like that, they’re going to call me Alistair the Goldheart!” It felt incredibly good to have done something to help my people. Something that would ease their suffering, something that would keep them safe from any more harm. I slid an arm around Rori’s waist, my hand coming to rest at her rather padded hindquarters. “You weren’t bad either, for a woman wearing diapers,” I grinned, ogling her choice of undergarments suspiciously. What had happened to Orlesian lingerie? “Gimme five!”

“What? You don’t like my sexy knickers?” Rori pulled up her shirt to show off the greyish thing wrapped around her hips. She wiggled her ass at me and I came to the conclusion that Rori could wear absolutely anything and still look gorgeous.

She slumped back onto the bed, crawling towards me. Then she gave me five and a kiss that sent me straight back onto the mattress with her on top of me. Too bad that was when she stopped.

“So, how about a reward?” I tugged at the ridiculous undergarment she was wearing,

“Wynne said absolutely no exertions for the next four weeks.”

I couldn’t help it—my face became as long as a fiddle. It made Rori laugh, which was far better than the sadness in her eyes and the pressure in her voice as she bravely tried to appear cheerful.

“Rori...” I began, feeling like an inconsiderate jerk for having pushed her in that direction at all.

“But...” She interrupted, holding up her index finger, an impish smile forming around her lips. “There might be something I could do...” Thus said, she vanished beneath the blanket.

Oh.

Okay.

So, we wouldn’t be talking?

I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she was only doing what she thought was expected of her.

“Maker’s Breath!”

I guess I should have stopped her. Alas, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak.

It was her to tug at my waistband now. She didn't stop there but—with some difficulties thanks to my bandaged leg, and much more cursing—freed me from my smallclothes, tossing them aside rather unceremoniously.

“Soooo...” Rori whispered, her lips brushing against the tip of my manhood as she circled her small hand around my shaft. “Your Highness demands to be rewarded?” She licked her lips, her tongue flicking against my glans.

“Merciful Andraste!” I threw off the blanket to watch her huddling between my legs. Her eyes shone like a set of large dark pools of midnight blue in her pale face. With her hair so short they seemed even larger, drawing my gaze to meet hers.

Teasingly Rori licked all the way up from the base of my manhood, across the glans and down the other side. She nibbled at my balls, lightly scraped her teeth against the softness of my skin upwards again only to blow cool air onto my, by then, throbbing manhood.

“That’s what you call a reward?” I groaned, curling my fists into the blanket. Maker! She was driving me crazy!

“Sure. What would you call it?” she asked—and sucked me deep into her mouth. I jolted, pushing myself deeper into the hot moist cavern, making her gag.

“His Highness better behave or he can take care of his Hardness himself!” Rori complained sullenly, her lips moving against my heated flesh. She had a way of being rather persuasive.

I behaved and was rewarded with the caress of her velvet tongue, soft lips, and the teasing of her sharp teeth. Curling my fingers into her hair, I sighed her name when she pushed me towards a blissful release.

Afterwards I just lay there with a very foolish grin plastered across my face and gasping “WOW!” over and over again while Rori, her cheeks puffed as a chipmunk’s, bravely swallowed. She pulled a face, went “BAH!” and shuddered. Laughing I pulled her into my arms and kissed her deeply, tasting myself on her lips. Admittedly, it wasn't very delicious.

Let me tell you something: If a woman licks your lamppost although she’s not really fond of it— and Rori never has been—she really loves you. Believe me, I once tried to stuff a rather huge carrot down my throat... No fun. Especially since that blasted carrot broke off and I almost choked on it. Now, that would have been some way to kick the bucket. Unique, though I’d rather not go down in history as the king who was defeated by a carrot. Maybe if it had been a carrot abomination...

What?

Oh, yes, sorry...

So, Rori laid there with her head resting on my belly and I absentmindedly stroked her hair and face. We both knew we had to talk but were determined to avoid it. We wanted to stay inside our little bubble of happiness for as long as possible. It burst when Amethyne arrived with Rori’s belongings, moving them from her room to mine. My command to turn the palace into a hospital was forcing us to budge up.

“Avernus told me to give you this.” She handed Rori a small tin box that looked suspiciously like the one I used to store my tea in. “He said that you so cannot afford sentiment and that it’s a waste and you should have let him keep it for research.” Rori cradled the box like something precious, running her fingers across the lid in a gentle caress. She didn’t tell me what was inside and I didn’t dare ask.

Later that day I was freed of my bandage and we both were allowed to get up because Wynne was sick and tired of us pestering her. “Go kill yourselves! But don’t come running to me afterwards!” she exclaimed in exasperation.

“We won’t, promise!” Rori grinned and then we poofed! before Wynne could change her mind.

Avernus and the recruits were already awaiting us at the path that led from the hunting lodge to the lake and grotto.

“You don’t have to do that, Gil. You know that, don’t you?” Rori greeted her faithful knight.

“I have sworn to serve the Couslands until my dying day. You are the last of the Couslands. I will follow wherever you lead,” the redheaded man replied solemnly.

Our other recruits weren’t that composed. “So, the Joining... that’s how we get our superpowers?”

“We don’t have superpowers.”

“What? None? Then why do I do this at all?”

“Because the taint will kill you within a few days and this is your only chance to survive?” I pointed out kindly.

James Mac Eanraig thought about that thoroughly. Although I got the impression he was more rapt in the sight of Rori’s hindquarters than in deep contemplation. “Hey, Rori, what did you stuff into your pants? Your ass looks huge!” Gilmore beat me to smacking the back of his head. That didn’t stop me, though, from smacking him again. He deserved it. “Oh, alright, your ass doesn’t look funny or fat and I’m in on the Grey Warden thing. Do I have to subscribe with my own blood? Are we all going to have an orgy at a pagan altar?”

“No!” Rori and I cried out in unison.

“Then what is the Joining about?” James sulked, obviously utterly disappointed. “Why is it secret? Do I have to keep it a secret, too?”

“Of course you do!” I grabbed Rori’s arm when she stumbled over a root as she kept craning her neck to look at her hindquarters. “You do have a really nice ass, kitten,” I whispered into her ear and earned myself a brilliant and very thankful smile.

“What? I cannot even brag about it when I go catting?” James pouted sullenly.

“Your cousin will never keep his mouth shut,” Avernus muttered under his breath. “He’s not fit to become a Grey Warden.” Avernus would have rather recruited James’s mage sister Jessica but she wasn’t infected and wasn’t interested in the life being a Grey Warden would afford her. Rori objected to using the Right of Conscription on her. We had more than enough volunteers to pick from after our heroic defeat of the archdemon. James Mac Eanraig was only chosen because Angus had made his niece promise to do everything in her power to save his only son.

“Let me talk to him,” Rori sighed, rolling her eyes. For her cousin she switched to a conspiratorial expression, her voice a hushed whisper as she looked around for anybody eavesdropping. There was nobody there of course. We had chosen Meghren’s artificial grotto deep in the royal forest for performing the Joining. That way it at least for once had a useful purpose. “Jamie, the Joining involves a whole lot of magic. Powerful magic. The magic also ensures we don't divulge our secrets to everybody and their dogs.”

“Why? What happens when you blab?” James wondered out loud while I handed the Joining chalice we had retrieved from Ostagar to Avernus to fill it.

“Hm, I’m not sure I can tell you. You’re not a Grey Warden yet…” Rori hesitated, then worriedly turned to me. “What do you think, Alistair? Is it safe?”

“He’ll be one soon. I daresay it’s safe to tell him that much.”

“Ahh, but you aren’t sure and I take the risk,” Rori replied with a troubled frown. She picked up a pine cone and turned it in her hands thoughtfully.

“Come on, what happens?” James whined impatiently.

Rori and I exchanged a saturnine look. I nodded after a moment of feigned contemplation.

“Your manhood falls off.” Rori bluffed, waving the pine cone around in front of Jamie’s nose.

I stuffed half my fist into my mouth to stifle my laugh. Tears welled up in Gilmore’s eyes as he stubbornly pressed his lips to a thin line. Only Avernus laughed out loud. But with him it sounded like he was suffering a slow, tormenting death of suffocation.

“WHAT!?” James shrieked, covering his most private parts with both hands.

“PLOP!” Rori said mercilessly, dropping the pine cone.

“Merciful Andraste!” James turned a whiter shade of pale. Then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he fainted.

I collapsed with him, rolling around on the ground in a fit of laughter.

“There,” Rori said, rubbing her hands contently. She looked like the cat that swallowed the pigeon. “Now he’d rather bite his tongue off than tell anybody anything. Jamie and his manhood are the very best of friends. Jules says it is mostly responsible for Jamie’s process of thinking.”

“That explains a lot,” I gasped, still shaken by uncontrollable fits of laughter. “Maker! You could have at least warned me!”

“This... this was a joke?” Darrian croaked, his face ashen. He leaned against a tree to support his wobbly legs.

“I think we will only know for sure if one gives it a try, hm?” Rori grinned maleficently.

Darrian nervously licked his lips. I was pretty sure our secrets were safe with him. “Hey Rori! What happens to women?”

Rori frowned. “They couldn’t tell me. There have never been many female Grey Wardens. And apparently none of them ever wanted to find out. I’m not going to be the first one.”

“Beast!” I whispered in her ear when she joined me inside the grotto.

“Revenge is sweet,” she said defiantly, feeling around on her padded hindquarters.

“So, this new potion, it is less deadly?” I muttered to Avernus while Rori explained to three very pale recruits what was about to happen next. She hugged them all—and stomped on James’s foot when he wouldn’t let go of her anymore. This was tough for us. Especially for Rori since Gilmore was a childhood friend and James her cousin. That seemed to count more than him being a jerk. Solona and Jowan weren’t present. We didn't want to risk losing them that shortly after the battle. We needed them. Desperately.

Magic was the reason Rori and I were alive and still kicking and already well enough to leave our bed. Magic saved many lives these days, including those of Ser Cauthrien and the Mac Eanraig triplets. The Blight itself and the days after truly changed my opinion on magic and mages. I’d seen them doing much good back then, and although there were those like Uldred, most of them meant well and I began to question if we had the right to lock them up and steal their lives.

“We didn’t yet have the possibility to run decent tests,” Avernus grated. “The experiment we tried yesterday night showed zero survivors with the traditional recipe and ten percent survivors with the alternate potion.”

“Errr... survivors? What survivors?” I inquired apprehensively. I said I had changed my mind about magic, not that I had given up all common sense. Avernus was still a mage to be distrusted.

“Rats.”

“You created Grey Warden rats!?” Duncan would have turned in his grave.

“It’s only one,” Rori said giddily. She of course had no problem with Avernus’s dubious activities. “It’s so cute! Solona adopted it. She calls it Cullen.”

“Charming. I’m sure its namesake will be delighted.”

We all gathered around the table carved into the stone. My hands were trembling when I picked up the filled chalice. Maker! Witnessing the Joining was totally different from actually handing those men the poison that could kill them. When I joined, I was far more—what’s the word?—fatalistic. I can handle dying myself far better than endangering or ending other people’s lives. At least not when they don’t deserve it. So, despite the Blight proving we needed the Grey Wardens, despite them all being here voluntarily, I felt like a murderer.

“Rori, please!” I said, my voice too shrill, giving away I wasn’t as composed as I liked to pretend.

“Huh?”

“The traditional words.”

“Who? Me? Oh, come on! I’ve heard them only once at my own Joining and I was so scared I was too busy not wetting my pants. I don’t remember any of it.”

“Join us, brothers and sisters...” I began since Avernus seemed as clueless as Rori.

“Now, who of us is the sister?” James Mac Eanraig giggled, nudging both Ser Gilmore and Darrian Tabris.

“Well, you are the only one with a skirt,” Gilmore growled, pointing out Jamie’s kilt. “And now shut up.”

“Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” I paused before adding in a lower voice: “And that one day we shall join you.”

“Give it to the loudmouth, first,” Avernus grunted. “Hopefully we will be rid of his idiocy.”

Hope failed. James Mac Eanraig survived his Joining and thus became a Grey Warden. Darrian and Gilmore followed suit and we welcomed three new brothers.

Avernus still wasn’t content. He glowered at James as if he were the result of an experiment gone wrong. “Blech! This potion works far too well. Now thinking about it, the old recipe probably saved us from a whole lot of sublime fools joining our ranks.”

While our brothers and Avernus returned to the palace, Rori led me toward the cliffs. The cold wind whipped at our faces, carrying with it the salty smell of the sea and the promise of rain. I hugged Rori to my chest and Rori hugged the small tin to hers as we stood there together, watching the grey waves below. She still hadn’t told me what was inside or why we were here together. She didn’t have to.

“Ready?” she asked after some time, her voice no more but a hoarse whisper.

“I don't know. Are you?” I had the fattest greenest frog in my throat, making me sound all choked... I tried to be manly and boys don’t cry. Especially not big boys who happen to be king.

“Can one ever be ready to say goodbye?” Rori sniffled and wiped her nose at her sleeve. Smiling to myself I gave her my handkerchief. Some things never change. The wind tore it from her hands and blew it away and I handed her my emergency handkerchief.

“Should we say something?” I wondered.

“I want to say sorry,” Rori whispered, hardly audible over the thunder of the waves crashing against the cliffs and the whistling of the wind. “I only wanted this baby when it was too late. When Morrigan first told me, I was shocked and scared. There was no joy or love inside of me for our child. I wasn’t prepared to be a mother and I didn’t act like one. I didn’t do anything to protect him. I didn’t trust you when I should have and kept the baby a secret.”

“I don't know how I feel. Overwhelmed, exhausted, sad... as if the archdemon gnawed at me spat me out and stomped around on me..."

“Alistair, that’s what it did for real.”

“Yeah, right, haha,” I laughed nervously. “Morrigan warned me about you slaying the archdemon, you know. I thought the ritual hadn’t worked. It’s not your fault. If I had trusted you...”

“You couldn’t know she was talking about the baby,” Rori pointed out.

“Still,” I insisted. I couldn’t let Rori take all the blame. We both hadn’t trusted each other.

“That’s what we get for not talking to one another,” Rori observed.

“Okay from now on, ruthless candor!”

Pause.

“I hired Zevran as the royal assassin.”

“RORI! We... we do not need an assassin! And in case we do, shouldn’t we hire someone with a higher success rate?”

“Yeah?” Rori arched an eyebrow and knocked the tea tin against my chest with each word. “How many trustworthy assassins do you know?”

“Aren’t we here to spread the baby’s ashes?” I asked exasperatedly, not so sure anymore I really wanted to know about everything my soon-to-be-wife did.

“Yes, ashes first,” Rori agreed, her voice so very small again, sadness returning to her eyes. “Goodbye, little one!” she murmured.

“Farewell,” I sniffled.

It was a grave moment of sublime grandeur, bittersweet and sad. We both took hold of the tin, opening the lid together and throwing the ashes into the wind—which blew it right back into our faces.

Ashes sprinkled across my skin, ashes in my eyes, my mouth, my nostrils and in my hair.

Same with Rori.

She stood there, her face dusted grey, her eyes wide with shock, mouth shaped round. Slowly, so very slowly she turned and gawked at me. She reached out, gently running her index finger across my cheek. It came away covered with cinders. She stared at it in disbelief, tears welling up in her eyes. She wavered and I knew if I didn’t catch her now, she would break down.

How do you bring comfort when all words have to sound like derision?

Doesn’t work. Cannot work. Soooooo...

“This is all your fault!” I complained in my whiniest tone.

“Mine!?” she gasped.

“You mollycoddled him!” I exclaimed indignantly. “Mummy’s clingy darling!”

Slack-jawed she blinked at me for a moment and I really thought she’d punch me. I took a step backward and she followed—good thing because she grabbed me by my shirt before I could topple over the edge of the cliff and pulled me so close that our noses almost touched. She glowered, I grinned sheepishly. “Oh yeah? Who promised him a pony and a puppy?” Rori retorted. Her lips twitched, her eyes gleamed. Then all of a sudden, she started to giggle. It bubbled out of her mouth, pushed forward although she tried to swallow it and next we were both rolling around on the ground in hysterics.

When it was over, we lay very still in the grass, panting for air. “Maker's Breath,” I groaned, holding my stinging side. “Why do such things always happen to us?”

“Because,” Rori hiccupped, grinning at me widely, her face smeared with tears of laughter and soot. Then she grabbed me by my ears and kissed me with gentle passion.

“Because,” I whispered my agreement.


	4. The Arl Is Dead, Long Live The Arl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to editing manager Ashley Reid. She really does an awesome job. Next to erasing my grammar and spelling errors she offers excellent proposed wording every now and then (- not too often thankfully or I would dispair about my writing ;)

“So, what are you doing here?”

“Chasing darkspawn. Although it has become more like a game of hide and seek, don’t you think? Now, where did they go?” I carefully peeked down the narrow alley where the darkspawn had disappeared. The houses on each side of the road stood so close together they almost touched. It was possible to lean out of the window and shake the neighbor’s hand and impossible to avoid getting hit by the contents of chamberpots emptied onto the street. It was one of the poorer areas of the city so we waded through mud consisting of dirt, excrement, and gore. Bloated corpses covered with swarms of fat black flies lay scattered all the way down the alley. It was dead silent but for the humming of insects and the smacking sounds of our boots in the mud. 

The smell... Somehow I’ve never managed to get used to the smell. Everything else, after some time, becomes somewhat bearable. You learn not to look too closely or block out the noises. The smell—that’s something you cannot ignore.

“You have to learn to delegate tasks,” Teagan whispered behind me. His voice choked by the effort not to breathe through his nose. “Others can hunt down the remaining darkspawn in the city.”

“But I am a Grey Warden! That’s my duty.”

“You are king!” Teagan hissed. Eamon had sent him along to babysit me. Him and a dozen knights. We had lost them somewhere in the labyrinth of alleys as they couldn’t keep up with Rori. I couldn’t keep up with her either, to be honest. Her senses had heightened immensely ever since she had slain the archdemon. And she had a way of just jumping over walls, climbing roofs, and other such feats that were all but impossible in heavy armor. Cursing under my breath, I fantasized about spanking her for this lone-wolf performance. At least the tingling at the back of my head told me which direction to go.

“Your duty is to stay alive so that this nation has a leader, not to stick your head through a door and almost get it crushed by an ogre,” Teagan gasped as we hurried around another corner into another narrow alley.

“They’re down here,” Rori murmured when we finally joined her. She was crouching next to a door in the ground leading to a very dark cellar. I guess I could be grateful she hadn’t crawled into the hole all alone.

“There are seven Grey Wardens now,” Teagan pointed out. Seven meaning Rori and I plus Gilmore, Darrian, James, Solona, and Jowan. Eight if you want to count Barkley. Nine with Cullen the rat. “They do not need your assistance.”

“What would you have me do? Sit on my throne and twiddle my thumbs?” I growled. Needless to say, that’s exactly where Eamon wanted me to be.

“There’s more than enough to do that doesn’t involve risking your life. Why do you think I stayed in the Chantry when Redcliffe was besieged by undead? I’m not the man to turn away from a fight. We didn’t know if anybody in the castle was alive. That meant I was the last Guerrin, as you are the last Theirin,” Teagan explained patiently, although he started to sound a bit unnerved. “Rori can handle this,” he beseeched me.

Right, nothing could stop her. It’s not like she was some kind of superhero, although that’s what people called her. More like she felt she would break down if she ever stopped going. Rest was unbearable. Everything she longed to be forgotten came rushing to the surface and the nightmares were even worse than they had been before—much worse.

I dealt far better with the pressure and trauma. Blame it on my templar training. Thanks to that I have a disciplined mind forged to concentrate on duty and blank out everything else. I was never good at meditation when it came to staring at a candle for hours and emptying my thoughts. But when there is something to do, I can focus like any other templar. Next to me, Rori was a complete mess. All I could do was be there for her when she needed a shoulder to cry on. My shirts were mostly wet these days.

For me, the death of our baby was over. I was sad but I didn’t mourn like I did for Duncan. For Rori, the wound was still very raw. She had gone into labor with the knowledge that it would kill her child. She had seen this tiny creature of no more than a few inches; she had held it in her hands. Afterwards she almost drowned in guilt while her body and its after-birth condition reminded her of her loss every single day—over and over again.

On top of all that, the taint was strong inside her and the nightmares tore at her sanity. She awoke screaming most nights, tearing at her own skin, convinced there were maggots crawling in her flesh. Or she would dream of birthing darkspawn instead of a human baby.

Not surprisingly, she would only sleep when exhaustion forced her to. When she was awake she appeared harassed, burdening herself with more duties than any single person should have been able to handle.

So, I certainly wouldn’t let her run after darkspawn alone. She was a danger-seeker back then, her actions bordering on suicidal. Every time we went hunting I made her promise she would return alive and still kicking. And I made sure I was there to remind her of her oath.

That’s why we were sitting in front of that hole and knew the darkspawn were down there while they knew we were up here.

“I go in first,” Rori said.

“Oh no, young lady, perish that thought. I will go first!” I yanked her back so forcefully she landed on her hindquarters in the mud.

“No way!” Teagan yanked me back and I came to sit next to Rori. “Did you forget about the ogre and your almost crushed skull?!”

“The door is far too narrow for an ogre to squeeze through,” I pointed out sullenly. Mud seeped into my armor.

“How about someone else goes in first?” Teagan groaned desperately. “Someone dispensable?”

“Hey! Why is everybody looking at me?” James sulked.

“How about a spell? Some frost to freeze them?” Solona suggested. She and Jowan had undergone the Joining the morning after our three guinea pigs. Avernus had decided the new recipe was working extraordinarily well since even James had made it through.

“The stairs are too steep,” Jowan reasoned. “You won’t get the right aim or radius without climbing down.”

“We must outwit them! That’s how we do it in Antiva!” Zevran chimed in, jolly as always.

“Got an idea?”

“No, nothing specific.” the elf rejoiced.

Marvelous!

“We could send James in first,” the elf suggested after a moment of contemplation.

“Hey!”

“Or we prong one of these stinking corpses onto that dungfork over there and have our makeshift puppet climb down the stairs. And Solona can hide in its shadow,” Zevran went on thoughtfully.

And that’s exactly what we did.

I admit, it wasn’t the best plan we ever had.

The head of the unfortunate—but thankfully already quite dead—man was swaying from side to side. Teagan and I grunted and groaned from the effort of balancing the dungfork. Solona in front of us summoned her magic, and the moment our puppet poked its head around the corner, a jagged darkspawn blade cut off its shoulders. At the same time, Solona’s spell turned the cellar into a glacier.

With a fierce battle cry Teagan and I charged forward—and slipped on the ice covering the floor. Teagan landed on his hindquarters and I slammed into the opposite wall right next to a darkspawn trying to stay on its feet by clinging to a shelf filled with jars of pickles. I clung to the very same shelf, which was definitely more than the shelf could withstand. Boards, frozen pickles, and shards of broken glass rained down on the darkspawn and me, sending us to the ground.

Face to face with the darkspawn I could smell its foul breath and see the murderous gleam in its red eyes. It snarled, I squeaked, and Solona blasted a well-aimed spell at the darkspawn’s head. It exploded right in my face. Blinded by ichor, I wished I had stayed in the palace and twiddled my thumbs while sitting comfortably on my throne.

Meanwhile, Rori, Zevran, and the darkspawn skittered through the cellar, trying to kill each other. In the end, Zevran climbed onto an empty barrel and hit at any beast sliding past. Rori, having lost both her swords, sought cover behind some sacks and threw frozen potatoes at her opponents.

That’s when my dozen knights caught up with us and thundered into the cellar. A dozen men in heavy armor going down like ninepins. It was a hellish noise as they all flopped around on the frozen ground with darkspawn amongst them. In the end we somehow managed to kill the darkspawn and not get killed in return.

The mighty heroes of the fifth blight struck again!

“Just like old times,” Rori grinned when we finally crawled out of the damned cellar.

“I almost had a heart attack!” Teagan groaned, clutching his chest. “You could have died!”

“I could slip on that rug in front of my bed and break my neck,” I pointed out. “That happened to Knight-Commander Dursley back at the monastery. And it was an extraordinarily ugly rug.”

“The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead,” Rori chirped.

“Calendar motto?”

“The one for my birthday next week.”

“How very fitting.”

Teagan wanted us all to return to the palace, only we didn’t make it there because we ran into a completely devastated Levi Dryden. He stood there before us all dressed up with nowhere to go.

“Rori! Alistair! This... this... Arl... confiscated all the goods we brought here from Warden’s Peak!”

“Arl who?”

“The Arl of Denerim!” Levi cried, wringing his hands. “I showed him my documents of transportation and that it was for the king but he didn’t care. He threatened to kill me! There was nothing I could do but watch his men cart the wagons away.”

“Vaughan, that prick!” Rori snarled.

“Do you require my services?” Zevran asked hopefully.

“Yes!” cried Rori.

“No!” I stopped the elf before he could saunter off in the direction Levi pointed us. “He is a prick and getting rid of him sounds awesome. But let’s first talk to him. I do not want to start assassinating unpleasant nobles before my coronation.”

“Alas, but afterwards...” Zevran rubbed his hands giddily.

“No!”

“But it’s only Vaughan!” Rori exclaimed when we marched off towards the alienage. “The best way to deal with him is to get rid of him. He’s nothing but trouble.”

“RORI!”

“Hey, what do we have an assassin for if not to use him? He gets a paycheck every month, you know.”

“Don't forget the bonus,” the ex-Crow added merrily.

“That’s a success fee, Zev.” Rori corrected. 

It wasn’t hard to find Vaughan. We only had to follow the ruckus.

“Maybe you want to reconsider?” Zevran asked dryly when we arrived at the center of the alienage. The tree mysteriously had survived the darkspawn attack. The whole alienage had burned down; there was nothing much left but soot and the skeletons of former ramshackle huts. But the tree wasn’t even scorched.

The elves had put up makeshift tents or built themselves shelters from the refuse they had found in the streets. Vaughan and his men just trampled their beggarly dwellings down and kicked the elves that didn’t scuttle out of their way fast enough as they rounded up some of the women. The men laughed, cracking smutty jokes while they groped and beat them.

One look at Rori and I did reconsider. I had seen her in the same place at Fort Drakon, so I was pretty biased. Teagan, though disgusted by the assault, tried a politically reasonable approach but since nobody was listening, he followed at our heels when we charged.

Only we never got there in time.

Vaughan had grabbed Shianni around the waist and she kicked and screamed and bit his tongue when he shoved it into her mouth. He shrieked and jolted backwards, then slapped her across the face and pushed her down, ripping at her skirts. He didn’t give a damn about the watching crowd and his men cheered for him when he forced Shianni’s legs apart.

Blood was dripping from his mouth, his grin a nasty sneer. He fumbled around with his pants. The moment he had to let go of Shianni’s hands she bolted upwards, butted her forehead against Vaughan’s nose and sent him tumbling back. Before he could recover the elf had pulled his dagger from its sheath and without a moment’s hesitation, rammed it between Vaughan’s legs.

He shrieked like a stuck pig, the scream dying on his lips when Shianni drove the blade into his guts over and over again in a frenzy.

It all happened so fast, even Vaughan’s guards couldn’t prevent it. Cursing, they finally pulled Shianni away from the Arl, a fist colliding with the side of her head, feet kicking at her ribs.

“Merciful Andraste! Stop!” I shouted at the top of my voice. Just nobody seemed to care. I pulled a man away from the elf, he turned and punched me straight in the face. Rori kicked another in the knees and was hauled against the tree by the next. A brawl started and the situation was getting out of hand.

“BY ORDER OF THE KING, STOP THIS NOW!!” Teagan roared next to me. And strangely they obeyed. Grimly he glared at Vaughan’s guards, a man like a rock while I just looked foolish with the blood spurting from my nose. And of course I didn’t have a handkerchief. Rori fished for one in her pockets and brought half a dozen to light. All mine!

“The knife-ear murdered Arl Vaughan Kendells!” the huge bald bully that had punched me growled.

“It looked like self-defense to me,” I objected.

“Stabbing him like thirty times?” a young noble with a face like a horse snapped indignantly. I hadn’t seen him before but by the crest on his armor, he was one of Bann Esmerelle’s men.

“She slipped and fell,” Rori dead-panned.

“Thirty times?!”

“The ground is quite slippery.”

“Leave the woman alone,” I ordered in my best king-voice.

“Nobody asked for your opinion, asshole!” big bald bully snarled. “Who do you think you are, giving orders?”

“Last time I checked I was the King of Ferelden.” I replied politely. “As far as I recall, giving orders is one of the privileges of being king. Even better, you have to obey. So if you would kindly leave the woman alone, I’d very much appreciate.”

Boy! This was the very first time being king was somewhat fun. Big bald bully ogled me, then Teagan. Teagan nodded, his grim expression getting a whole lot of grimmer, and big bald bully hurried to bow. His buddies let go of Shianni instantly and threw themselves into the mud.

The noble stayed quite unimpressed, though. He and Rori exchanged some scathing looks before he addressed me. “Your Majesty, this woman is responsible for the Arl’s death! I demand she be brought to justice!”

“He tried to rape her. He is very much responsible for his own death,” Rori hissed, her fists clenched at her sides.

“She is an elf!” The noble prick snorted. “You are certainly not going to fraternize with an elf!”

By now every single elf of the alienage had closed in around us. An ominous silence had overcome them, tension brooding within. One didn’t have to be a genius to realize the danger we were in. Meaning, even I understood that whatever we did next would carry very large consequences.

“So what? He cannot just rape her because she’s an elf!” Rori cried. In the meantime, Solona and Jowan pulled Shianni back to her feet and situated her safely behind us. They would have taken her away if not for the solid wall formed by the inhabitants of the alienage.

“This is Denerim, not Highever,” the noble snapped, poking his finger at Rori’s chest. Rori grabbed it and bent it backwards until the noble whimpered in pain. I really didn’t see any reason to stop her.

“This is Ferelden. No man has the right to harass any woman anywhere in my kingdom,” I said resolutely. “That applied to Vaughan and it applies to you. Arrest him!”

“What!?” the horse-face shrieked. “You cannot do that! My mother, Bann Esmerelle, will hear of this!”

“Undoubtedly,” I agreed unblinkingly.

The elves finally made way, forming a narrow passage when my guards led the ranting noble and Vaughan’s guards away. His corpse still lay in the mud, blood soaking the ground.

“Seems you need a new Arl of Denerim,” Shianni observed, kicking Vaughan’s side one last time. She spat two teeth onto the muddy ground, then defiantly wiped the blood off her mouth with her sleeve. “We’d very much appreciate if he wasn’t a sublime idiot, rapist, and tyrant.”

“Three wishes at once? I’ll do my very best,” I promised, unable to bite back a lopsided grin at the feistiness of this woman.

“When humans do their very best for elves, there’s nothing much to be expected,” Shianni snorted. She elbowed Jowan in the guts when he offered her his arm. Her knees were quite wobbly but she stood there with her head held high, ignoring her torn blouse and ripped skirt.

“I... I am...” I wanted to say sorry, because I was. It is a mystery to me how people can just pass by that much misery and accept it as normal or—even worse—the Maker’s will. Rori and Teagan grabbed me by my arms and dragged me along before I could apologize for all the atrocities humans had ever committed and for my own ignorance.

“We’re done here,” Teagan insisted when I opened my mouth to protest. So we passed through the crowd of elves, still silently regarding us. It was damn creepy and I was glad when we finally had passed them by.

“Your Majesty,” Shianni called after me when we arrived at the gates of the alienage. These damn gates that separated them from everybody else were the only things still standing, apart from the tree. It was a stark contrast of hope and despair. “Thank you.” She inclined her head and the assembled elves followed suit.

I grinned sheepishly and waved like the fool I am. I didn’t think I had done something special. Teagan very much disagreed.

“Eamon will have my ass on a silver platter,” he groaned. “Alistair! You cannot value the life of an elf more than that of a human noble! What are you going to do next? Declare the freedom of the mages?”

“This wasn’t about elves and humans. It was about a man ravaging a woman,” I explained. “Race does not matter in that case.”

“Wrong. When it’s elves and humans, that’s what it always is about. They aren’t humans. They are subhumans. And thus you treat them as lesser beings,” Teagan lectured me.

“But that’s unfair!” I really didn’t get why I was being scolded when I was sure I had done nothing wrong. Rori always told me to listen to my heart. And my heart beat with pride.

“Yes, it is.” Teagan admitted in a far softer tone. “The world in general is unfair. You cannot change that.”

“But I am king!”

“Alistair, Ferelden is not yet prepared to accept elves as equals,” Teagan sighed. “And I very much doubt it will be during your reign, may it last for decades. You should have arrested that elven woman as well and charged her for the murder of Arl Vaughan Kendells. Your political opponents will use this against you.”

“Well, I don't give a damn! If it had been Rori instead of Shianni, nobody would even think about condemning her! But because she’s an elf we do?” Angrily I marched off, walking at the very front of my little party. Strange how suddenly I had become the leader when it had been Rori’s place all the times before now.

“He’s right, you know,” she said gently when she joined me.

“I thought you at least would understand,” I snapped.

“I do,” she said sharply. “But that doesn’t change the world we live in. You did the right thing and they will hold it against you. Many see elves as lesser beings and those who don’t wouldn’t go to the stake for their cause.”

“So what do you expect me to do?” I pouted. “Go back there and arrest her because I displeased some nobles?”

Rori shook her head. “That would cause a riot.”

“Good, I wouldn’t have done it anyway.”

When we arrived at the palace, Eamon acted as if Vaughan’s death was the end of the world. I’m not going to repeat what he said. It was basically the same thing Teagan and Rori had said already. Eamon immediately called a meeting and after a lick and a promise to wash off the darkspawn ichor, Rori, myself, and my most important supporters gathered in Bann Angus Mac Eanraig's bedroom, simply because he was still bedridden. The darkspawn had very much turned him inside out and he was sipping his meals through a straw. His body was bandaged from head to toe and he kept complaining about the itching. Eamon and Teagan were there. Bryland, too. And Bann Alfstanna. Sitting on chairs around Angus’s bed, they all got pretty upset about the incident and how I handled it. So upset that they didn’t talk about anything else for the next fifteen minutes. Enough time to devour three cheese sandwiches and half a bottle of wine.

Bryland called it a disaster. Eamon used the word debacle in about every sentence. Alfstanna said it was a catastrophe and that Esmerelle was going to freak out.

“Bah! Let the stupid cow rant all she wants,” Angus put them off, his voice muffled by the bandages covering his face with only a tiny hole where his mouth was. “Vaughan caused more trouble in a week than this young fellow here ever could in a lifetime. Urien was a good old chap but his son was a sadistic prick and not fit to rule anything, let alone the capital of Ferelden.”

“That means we do need a new Arl. The Kendells clan is extinguished,” Arl Leonas observed.

“Bann Loren is a remote relative of Urien Kendell’s great-grandfather, I believe,” Alfstanna remarked.

And then they all started to unravel the genealogy of Fereldan nobility. It was like watching paint dry.

“I spy with my little eye something that begins with C,” I whispered to Rori.

“Hmm… is it perhaps a chair?” she guessed.

“Nope.”

“Bann Esmerelle’s family is related to Urien Kendell’s wife...”

“Is it cheese? Maybe the last cheese sandwich on your plate?”

“Ahh, that was too easy!”

“My turn. I spy with my little eye something that begins with... umm... B.”

“Is it Angus’s bed?”

“No.”

“But can we really give Denerim to Esmerelle? She openly opposed Alistair during the Landsmeet. She was one of Howe’s most loyal allies,” Bryland added for consideration.

“Is it a beard? Eamon’s beard? No? Then it’s Teagan’s.”

“Giving her the power over Denerim would make her one of the most powerful nobles in Ferelden. Amaranthine and Denerim combined would make her incredibly rich!”

“She’s already richer than is good for her,” Bann Angus grunted.

“My turn.” I stuffed the last cheese sandwich into my mouth while scanning the room. “I spy with my little eye something that begins with A.”

“Giving her Denerim could bias her towards Alistair,” Teagan thought aloud.

“Not when she is the closest relative anyway. She will regard it as what rightfully belongs to her. I know her, the word gratitude doesn’t even exist in her vocabulary,” Bryland sighed.

“Is it armor? Uncle Angus’s armor?”

“No.”

“We could avoid her openly siding against Alistair.”

“Hmph! When has Esmerelle ever done something openly? She lies in your face and plots behind your back.”

“Is it an Arl? Arl Eamon?” Rori guessed, chewing on her lower lip as she looked around the room for something else beginning with A.

That got Eamon’s attention. “Do the king and future queen of this nation also have an opinion regarding the vacant position of the Arl of Denerim?” he asked icily, his glare boring into us. I slid down in my chair, a very wide, very sheepish grin spreading across my face.

“Err...” I began, nudging Rori’s side as she was still craning her neck to get a better view on the rest of the room.

“Oh! I know! It’s the armchair by the fireplace!” she exclaimed into the tense silence.

“The armchair cannot become Arl of Denerim, although it probably wouldn’t pay any less attention to important political matters than the two of you do,” Eamon droned.

“Indeed,” Rori agreed. “The armchair would be a bad choice, better than Vaughan, though. At least it wouldn’t kill anybody solely for its entertainment. I’d still rather suggest Levi Dryden.”

“The merchant? He's not even a noble. Esmerelle is the closest relative to the Kendells.”

Rori straightened in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. With her ankles crossed and that expression of tense concentration, she appeared like a student in front of an examining board. “As the Kendells are all dead, the king possesses the authority to name a successor. He doesn’t necessarily have to consider relatives. That’s how Maric could declare Loghain Teyrn of Gwaren without the permission of the Landsmeet.”

“True, but that doesn’t explain your choice of a commoner,” Eamon pointed out.

“The Drydens used to be a noble family before Sophia Dryden rebelled against King Arland. They lost their titles and lands back then, so they are not like any common commoner,” I explained. I was as surprised by Rori’s suggestion as were the assembled advisors. Levi was a good man, braver than he thought himself to be. I couldn’t imagine him as an Arl, though. Since I couldn’t imagine myself as a king, he was probably the perfect man for this position. “Levi fought bravely to defend Denerim.”

“As did a thousand other commoners,” Leonas Bryland retorted.

“The Drydens would be absolutely loyal,” Rori re-entered the discussion. “Returning their titles to them would be like a dream come true. Alistair could do with some more supporters.”

“And that’s why Dryden’s nomination could displease the Bannorn,” Eamon responded. “He would be seen as King Alistair’s bootlicker.”

“An immensely rich bootlicker,” Rori exclaimed, her cheeks blushed when she lunged into a sweeping speech. “I mean, Bann Esmerelle is rich, too, but she would only strive to make herself richer. The Drydens are a merchant family. They know the formula of success. Denerim is a commercial city—without any commerce happening right now. Declare Levi Dryden Arl of Denerim and he will feel personally responsible to rebuild this city and turn it into the most important trading point in Ferelden. Levi has the knowledge and he has the money to make this happen. That’s more than can be said about us. The treasury is empty, the capital destroyed, the banns already complain about the taxes being too high, we’ll face a famine next winter...” Rori shrugged, all eyes on her making her blush. “Just a thought,” she added in a much smaller voice.

Into the following silence, Angus Mac Eanraig boomed with pride: “Every inch a Cousland!” Pause. “Sure, she’s the shortest of all of them, but even a short Cousland is outstanding!”

And that's how Levi Dryden became Arl of Denerim. Maker, Bann Esmerelle was so utterly pissed off! We only found out later how pissed off she really was.


	5. Sleeping The Demons Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Notevensorry for helping with the French/Orlesian.
> 
> Another chapter edited by awesome Ashley Reid.

“Come on, Alistair! It’s no use moaning. As king you have to learn Orlesian.”

“Alright, but how about we start with the really essential things?”

“The basics seem rather essential to me,” Rori retorted while strapping her luggage to her horse. I tried to do the same and didn’t even get to lift the package off the ground before some stable boy almost broke his neck diving for it. He practically yanked it from my hands. I grabbed it but he wouldn’t let go. “It’s his job, Alistair.”

“Is this another king thing? Next they’re going to masticate my food. Just so you know, that’s when I’m drawing the line—king or not.” I huffed, glowering sullenly at the boy. I felt ultimately stupid and useless just standing around, watching others work while I smiled and waved. “Speaking of food, what’s the word for cheese?” I asked. Basics, she said. What could be more basic than cheese?

Rori rolled her eyes. “Le fromage.”

“Where is the cheese?” I sought to improve my mind.

“Oh come on! When will you ever need that line?” Rori groaned. I gave her my best puppy-dog-eyes. That always worked with her. Okay, most of the time. Sometimes. “Fine! Où-est le fromage?”

“See, this at least is useful,” I grinned. When she poked out her tongue at me, I ruffled her short hair that had grown long enough by now to form tiny, incredibly cute curls on her head. “And how do you say ‘I love you’ in Orlesian?”

That made Rori smile. One of those lately rare, adorable smiles that lit her whole face and brought the glow of liveliness back to her eyes. She tiptoed to whisper the words into my ear, tickling me with her breath. “Je t’aime.”

Now I smiled, too. “I love you, too.” I slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “And how do you say ‘kiss me’?”

Instead of answering right away, Rori wrapped her arms around my neck, her head tilted backwards, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. “Embrasse-moi,” she murmured.

“Your desire is my command,” I replied, crushing my lips against hers. She eagerly accepted and I came to the conclusion that learning Orlesian wasn’t as dull as I had previously thought.

“If you’re quite finished, your Highness, the troops are ready to leave,” Eamon interrupted my Orlesian lessons.

I beamed at Eamon and waved. “I suppose,” I smiled and waved at everybody about twice, at least, in all my kingly glory. If this is all that is asked of me as king, even I should be able to manage.

“I should ask Dagna to create a waving King Alistair doll,” Rori mused. “They would sell like hot cakes.”

“Your ideas to refill the treasury are becoming a bit... fanciful lately,” Eamon complained. By his sour expression he was glad to be rid of Rori for awhile, and thus separate her from Dagna. The tiny dwarf had only arrived yesterday, and already the two of them together had some really strange ideas. Their combined charm too often convinced Bodahn to give them a try.

While Dagna now had time to create the artificial arm for Ser Cauthrien—the actual reason why she had come to Denerim—we were about to leave the capital to chase the remaining darkspawn that had fled from the city and now were running around Ferelden aimlessly. When Duncan had said they would return to the Deep Roads once the archdemon was defeated, I didn’t expect them to have that much trouble finding their way back. We were kindly going to show them the right direction since Denerim, according to Rori, was completely darkspawn free.

I was glad to leave the city behind. Denerim seemed suffocating already. Or maybe it was Eamon pestering me with kingly business nonstop from the moment I rolled out of bed. Slaying darkspawn sounded like a vacation to me.

There were some who weren’t all that delighted about my departure, though. 

“You are crazy! Mad! Nuts! You have to be! And now you leave me alone! You mustn’t go! What should I do? What can I do?” Levi wailed.

“Levi, if two junior Grey Wardens could end a Blight, you can temporarily rule a city,” Rori patted the newly minted Arl’s shoulder.

“I have no clue what an Arl has to do!” Levi shrieked, grabbing the front of my cape. He was trapped somewhere in between pride and terror. To restore the family’s honor was what he had always dreamt off. However, even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t seen himself as Arl of Denerim.

“And I have no clue what a king is supposed to do. And nobody seems to care,” I said with heartfelt sympathy.

“You’re not alone, Levi,” Rori assured him.

“Exactly, because you know, I have a dream,” I intoned in my best kingly voice, my arm wrapped around Levi’s shoulder as we both gazed up into the blue sky. “That we all stand together for Ferelden to rebuild what was destroyed, and make it even better. And if you ask, ‘Can we make this happen?’ I say, ‘Yes! Yes we can!’”

“He doesn't believe that rubbish, does he?” Bann Alfstanna murmured behind my back. “Has nobody told him how Fereldan politics work? The Landsmeet uniting for the sake of this nation... excuse me while I laugh. We didn’t even manage when an archdemon was breathing down our necks.”

“Perhaps dreams like this are exactly what this country needs.”

Thank you, Rori!

Alfstanna snorted. “If he wants the Bannorn to work together, he has to learn how to brownnose, bribe, blackmail, and threaten them effectively.”

Now didn’t that sound like fun? I was so looking forward to it, I can’t even tell you.

Alfstanna left and the stable boy came running again to help me, so I hurriedly pulled myself into the saddle. In my panic I hurried a bit too much and the momentum catapulted me over my horse. The rattle of King Alistair falling of his horse and hitting the ground in full plate armor can probably still be heard in Amaranthine.

Doom!

DOOM!

Arl Bryland’s and Arl Wulff’s faces where the first to appear in sight, looming worriedly over me. “Didn’t I tell you? He is Maric’s son! He’s the spitting image of his father. He talks like his father. He even falls off his horse exactly like his father. What more proof do you need?” Leonas said.

“Hmph,” Wulff grunted. “We will see if he can stay on his throne longer than he can stay in the saddle.”

Charming.

I wasn’t even yet crowned and they already doubted my claim—just as Anora had foreseen. Of course, she also had done her best to plant the seed of suspicion.

The two Arls were shoved aside by Rori, much more concerned about my well-being than my heritage. “Alistair?”

“You know, I think we really should reconsider this escape plan to Orlais.” I bet Anora Mac Tir had never fallen off her horse in front of the assembled nobility of Ferelden.

“Do you want to walk there?” Rori replied, holding out her hand for me to pull me back to my feet. Sighing I climbed back into the saddle, waved, and smiled.

When we rode through the city gates I felt a weight being lifted of my shoulders. Denerim, in that short a time, had become the embodiment of my burden. Leaving it behind I felt free, although it was an illusion. I would never be free again.

Rori took my hand and squeezed it assuringly, comfortingly. I smiled and was rewarded with her smiling in return.

Then we passed by the pyres. The days after the Blight you could smell them everywhere in Ferelden. A whole forest was cut down to burn all the corpses—darkspawn and human alike. And there was this huge tainted dragon rotting on top of Fort Drakon. We had to chop it into handy pieces and carry it down all those stairs. I have never before and never afterward been that grateful that Rori had activated Shale in Honleath. Needless to say, Shale herself wasn’t nearly as delighted.

Avernus and his crew left with us for Warden’s Peak. That’s how we dragged along a cart with the archdemon’s head, all its organs and blood in barrels and several cages of living darkspawn. Avernus grinned from ear to ear and kept shouting at us to hurry up because he couldn’t wait to return to his lab. And the soldiers did hurry because nobody wanted to stay around him and his creepy freight for too long.

Most, but especially the nobles, avoided Avernus like the plague. And that was the reason why I was to be found with the Grey Wardens. I wore a beatific smile and waved stupidly at the banns from afar whenever they turned in their saddles and beckoned me to talk to them.

It was bliss...

“You are a hero, your Highness!”

Almost.

“You and Lady Rori, all alone against the darkspawn. The last of the Grey Wardens made the impossible happen! You must be so proud of yourself! The people adore you! I adore you! Did I already say you are a hero? My hero!” The young doe-eyed soldier exclaimed, clapping her hands over her heart. She even sighed and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Err... excuse me, have we met before?”

“Oh! How rude! I didn’t even introduce myself. Name’s Mhairi and... you are my hero, your Highness! I so want to become a Grey Warden, just like you and Lady Rori! And all these heroic men and women...” She turned to look at our new recruits with undisguised pride and adoration. James was stuffing two sandwiches into his mouth. Darrian had trouble staying in the saddle as he balanced an apple pie in each hand. His black eye spoke of his confrontation with Nan. Gilmore’s face was smeared with jam. Jowan hadn’t even bothered slicing his loaf of bread, but rather cut the whole thing down the middle, turning it into a super-sized sandwich. And Solona looked like a chipmunk with her cheeks stuffed with food and gravy dripping from the corners of her mouth. Cullen sat on her head, nibbling a cookie he held in his tiny paws.

Rori and I watched them with amusement. “Feels weird, doesn’t it?” I sighed, all melancholic. “Suddenly we are the old stagers when only one year ago we were in their places. They are the future of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden while for me, it is over.”

“King or no, you will always be a Grey Warden,” Rori said gloomily. For her, it was a curse she intended to break. For me, well, I was still mystified by the fellowship and the heroic duty. What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.

In the meantime, Mhairi hadn’t stopped babbling. I swear she only stopped when she had to breathe—and she could go without for an incredibly long time. “I’d do anything for you. You ever need something, anything, just tell me and I’ll be there. You are so brave! King Alistair the Brave. How does that sound?” Mhairi beamed at me. “What you did for Ferelden... for Thedas... you should be canonized!”

“Ha! If the Grand Cleric were here, her head would explode,” I laughed aloud. “She keeps muttering ‘The Maker moves in mysterious ways’ whenever around me. My coronation already is a test of faith for her.”

“But you are in line with Calenhad the Great and Maric the Savior!” Mhairi exclaimed, her face glowing with admiration. “My heart is filled with pride when I think of Grey Wardens as king and queen of this nation!” She expectantly smiled at us from ear to ear.

“I wish more would share your enthusiasm,” I muttered, beaming back at her.

“I so wish to be a Grey Warden,” Mhairi prompted.

I somehow got the feeling I was missing something essential.

“If only someone would recruit me...” she added, winking frequently at me.

I was about to ask her if she had dust in her eyes when Rori shouted “DARKSPAWN!”, causing everybody to jump. I hadn’t even felt a tingling at the back of my head, but Rori already worked like a compass, leading a group of soldiers toward a small village aside from the main road.

When we arrived the darkspawn were already gone, the houses burnt; corpses lay scattered like broken dolls. One of them picked itself off the ground and staggered towards us—a scrawny thing with dirty blonde hair... it looked somewhat familiar...

“Alistair!” it howled, swaying from side to side as it scrambled forward.

“Ca-cammen?”

“They took Gheyna!” Cammen shrieked in a high-pitched voice, his face a mask of fear. The Dalish hadn’t stayed in the capital after the defeat of the archdemon, but had chased the darkspawn fleeing into the woods. I would have thought they returned to the Brecillian Forest by now. Well, obviously they hadn’t, and here was poor Cammen, more dead than alive, screaming at me in horror. “Lanaya, Gheyna! They dragged them away!”

Rori closed her eyes, moving her head from side to side. Then her arm shot upwards and she pointed a direction. “They’re not far yet. We could reach them before they disappear in the Deep Roads.”

“Please!” Cammen begged, dropping to his knees, his hands raised in a pleading gesture.

Without any further questions I stirred my horse to follow the darkspawn. “We’ll bring them back, Cammen.”

“Why should we risk our lives for some elven tarts?” Bann Franderel snorted.

I ignored him and so did Rori. If they didn’t want to follow, fine! We wouldn’t waste precious time on Bann Franderel’s ignorance. We both knew firsthand what was at stake.

We chased them through the woods, off-road, the horses jumping over roots, branches whipping at our faces. More than once did I almost fall off my horse. At this speed I certainly would have broken my neck. Rori was riding with Solona, Gilmore with Jowan. They clung to the riders in front of them, Solona prayed silently, her lips moving constantly as she pressed to Rori. Jowan screamed like a girl whenever Gilmore’s horse vaulted across a fallen tree or rock. Soon his cries were answered by the shrill frightful shouts of the darkspawns’ captives.

We knew where they were and they knew we were coming. Even without all the noise we were making, sneaking up on darkspawn is absolutely impossible for Grey Wardens. We sense them, they sense us. It sucks. Rori’s words, not mine. But she does have a point.

Alas, I shouldn’t have been surprised when suddenly a Hurlock jumped right into my way from behind a tree. I knew there was something nasty nearby. Unfortunately, my horse didn’t share this knowledge. It reared and I slammed onto the (thankfully) soft ground. The only reason I didn’t get to hear yet another obligatory “Just like Maric!” was the absence of Fereldan nobility. It was us Grey Wardens, the Fellowship of the Blight, faithful Mhairi and the rest of my personal guards—and Teagan, cursing under his breath as he thought aloud about one hundred ways to kick the king’s royal ass.

I was still rolling around on the ground, avoiding my horse’s hooves when Teagan decapitated the Hurlock just by riding past. Master Dennet always said Teagan is one of the best. I really don’t want to repeat what he had to say about me. My frantic mount disappeared between the trees the same time as half a dozen darkspawn sprung up like mushrooms. I turned and slammed my shield into a Genlock’s ugly face, then whirled around to block the blade of yet another Hurlock. Somewhere ahead, the shrill cries of Shrieks announced the presence of even more darkspawn. Mhairi appeared at my side. Jowan, having fallen off Gilmore’s horse, came running to our aid.

Cornered in a hollow surrounded by steep rocks on three sides, we were engaged in a raging battle, about fifty darkspawn against Ferelden’s Grey Wardens, our fellow Heroes of the Fifth Blight minus Wynne, Teagan, and some royal guards. It felt like old times...

Lanaya had escaped her captors and around her the forest came to life. Trees swayed their branches against our foes, roots tripped them, a bear suddenly broke through the undergrowth, savaging the nearest darkspawn.

Gheyna wasn’t as lucky. Hauled over the shoulder of a huge Hurlock, probably an Alpha, there was little she could do when the beast vanished inside the darkness of a crevice, not caring at all about its minions fighting for their lives.

Without any hesitation, Rori darted after the escaping darkspawn.

Without any hesitation, I darted after Rori.

Without any hesitation, but cursing like a sailor, Teagan darted after his king.

Last, but not least, there was Mhairi, following us like a faithful mabari.

She probably was the only one who thought this was awesome.

“Ohhhh! The Deep Roads!” she exclaimed, and with admiration gawked at the remains of dwarven architecture as if we were about to have a sight-seeing tour.

Passing by the statues of some long forgotten dwarves and through an impressive gate, Rori lunged into the darkness, following the darkspawn blindly until she ran straight into some cobwebs. Now, that had her running right back and into my arms and that’s exactly where she stayed until Solona appeared and gave us some light.

“Hurry or we’ll lose Gheyna!” I called out to the mage. She hurried although it turned out it really didn’t matter.

The Hurlock hadn’t gotten far. Actually, he was stuck in a huge spider web a few yards down the passage. Above it dangled a fat black spider. It hissed when Solona’s light touched it. That, however, didn’t stop it from thoroughly wrapping the darkspawn up. Another smaller package already dangled from the ceiling. Rori whimpered and ducked behind me—with Solona and James. Maker! Were there any Grey Wardens not afraid of spiders?

“Spiders are pretty useful animals.” I teased the scaredy-cats. “They terminate a whole lot of nasty vermin.”

“I’m pretty sure Franderel would regard Gheyna as vermin, too,” Rori agreed in a very small voice. “And she wouldn’t end up as a broodmother. Still, someone should get her, right? Any volunteers?”

Solona could be convinced to blast some spells at the spider until it retreated and Mhairi volunteered to get Gheyna.

All’s well that ends well.

I thought Rori would recruit her as a quid pro quo. Mhairi for sure expected it, but Rori was busy getting away from the spider as quickly as possible.

Cammen was so grateful, he wanted to become a Grey Warden, too, when we returned Gheyna to him. As he shot himself in the foot when he was startled by a noise in the woods, Rori declined his offer. While the elves enjoyed their reunion, I met a chorus of disapproval. Not openly. It all happened behind my back. I heard the whispers as I passed by, spiteful remarks about Rori’s and Zevran’s relationship, about his and my relationship, about the Dalish and my backscratching, about Amethyne and Shianni, about how the new king patronized the elves, how he even risked his life for them...

Rori heard it, too. And it made her hopping mad. It made me angry, too. And sad. And insecure. I didn’t really know how to react. Rori just climbed an overturned cart, rising above the assembled soldiers and nobles. She didn’t shout or clap her hands to gain their attention. She just stood there, her head held high, and the whispers around her died as all eyes turned to her.

“When the darkspawn abducts women, they do not kill them,” she said in a voice so low, her audience had to strain their ears. She spoke matter-of-factly, calmly but with a heartfelt grief and undisguised horror. “They spit into their mouths, feed them human flesh, and make them drink human blood. They violate them. And the women grow, infected with their corruption and filled with their seed. They turn into broodmothers—and give birth to hundreds of monsters, adding to the darkspawn horde.”

Thus said, she climbed from the cart and, accompanied by their shocked silence, walked through the passage the crowd opened for her until she came to stand next to me.

I’m not sure I would have told them. We hadn’t yet heard from Weisshaupt if they wanted to keep the existence of broodmothers a secret. It wasn’t anything that would make recruiting more difficult. Like the Joining or the Calling. Everybody knew darkspawn were evil. Really evil. But with Weisshaupt, one never knows. They totally love their secrets.

Rori for sure had put my actions into perspective. Suddenly I wasn’t a collaborator anymore, but a considerate leader having risked his own life for the sake of his people. It wasn’t about the elven women anymore; it was about preventing more darkspawn from swarming Ferelden and causing even more destruction.

At the end of the day, after some more darkspawn hunting, we set up camp in an abandoned village. Some of the banns had left us by then, travelling back to their own lands to deal with the problems there, most notably darkspawn.

I was dead tired. I didn’t care much about anything anymore, really. Some banns came to complain about Avernus and his freight. Others didn’t like sharing a camp with elves. The next felt outraged by a certain redheaded drunken dwarf. Then there was this useless discussion about who would get which room in the inn and where which tent had to stand regarding the importance of their inhabitants.

I only had one thing to say to them: “Suck it up!” I would have loved to add they could kiss my royal ass but all I got out was a yawn.

I stubbornly ignored Teagan and the fit for a king room at the tavern crammed with nobility and went to help Rori put up our old and battered tent in the death strip that separated Avernus and the Wardens from everybody else. I knew I was adding fuel to the fire and I couldn’t have cared less.

Rori’s face was grey with exhaustion. Still she refused to sleep. Instead, she went for a walk.

I groaned out loud—and inwardly, too. I was so tired I was tempted to just haul her over my shoulder and drag her back to the tent. Unfortunately she was already gone, so I had to catch her first and that meant walking into the forest. The fading light, painting dots of dim gold onto the forest floor, turned into dusky grey, mirroring my exhaustion. When I found Rori she was armed with a branch and was furiously beating up a tree, her movements lacking the fluid grace she used to show in battle. Panting she stopped as she heard me approach. She didn’t turn to look at me, though. Just stood there with her shoulders slumped. The way she held herself, she could have been a hundred years old or more.

“With the shadows beneath your eyes you look like a raccoon,” I sighed, pulling her into my arms when she was about to escape again. “You need to sleep, Rori.”

“I can't!” she cried, breaking free from my embrace. She was swaying and her hands trembled as she ran her fingers through her hair. “After the Joining, the first nightmares were a shock,” she said hoarsely. “I got used to them. They increased slowly as I began to sense the darkspawn. And after the Deep Roads there was another exacerbation. Then I slayed the archdemon... It should have been a slow process with the taint growing stronger. I could have adjusted to it step by step until it would have become unbearable. Those things Riordan could do, sensing the generals amongst the darkspawn, listening to the archdemon’s plans for the attack... it took him decades to get there. I got catapulted there within a heartbeat...” She groaned, banging her forehead against my chest and clapping her hands on her head as if she feared it would explode. “Their whispers are always in my mind,” she breathed, her voice hollow with despair. “They increase when I sleep. I am right there amongst them as if I was part of them, as if I belonged there!”

The dreams had become worse for me, too, after the battle of Denerim. I was standing pretty close when Rori rammed her sword into the archdemon’s skull and the corruption swept me off my feet as well. I knew what she was talking about. Kinda.

After the Joining, the darkspawn enters our minds. It’s like a background noise. At first you don’t really notice it unless it’s completely quiet around you. It’s like the distant murmur of a river. You don't really pay attention to it; it’s just there. With the taint growing stronger, you start approaching the river and the murmur slowly becomes louder. Rori, however, all of a sudden found herself standing next to a roaring waterfall.

Helplessly I held her as she cried with her face buried at my chest.

“I shouldn’t have persuaded you to do the ritual,” Rori sobbed. “It should have ended with the archdemon’s death...”

Whoa! Wait! I didn't like where she was heading. This was not Rori-like at all. She said she hadn’t had the time to get used to the change, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t adjust at all. It was only a matter of time, right? She justhad to grit her teeth and ‘bloody blast it give it a try,’ right?

Right?

I opened my mouth to say something encouraging and comforting but really everything I could think of sounded like empty promises.

“Maybe I can help.” A whisper in the dark made us jump. Our hands flew to the hilts of our weapons. Between the trees glowed a pair of eyes, like a cat’s. “I mean no harm.” The voice went on soothingly. “I tend to forget humans cannot see in the dark like we do.” A small ball of dim light formed next to the speaker’s head and I became aware it was Keeper Lanaya. Rori and I let out the breath we had been holding and relaxed. Damn sneaky elves!

“You risked your own lives to save mine. Ma serannas.” Lanaya put her hand over her heart and bowed slightly. “I am in your debt. Allow me to repay you for your kindness.” Thus said she untied an object from her belt that strongly reminded me of a spider web. It was a circle of strings woven together, small beads adorning it and one bigger stone right in the center, like a spider sitting there, awaiting its prey. Needless to say, Rori wasn’t delighted. Three feathers were attached to the circle with leather bands, flowing softly in the night breeze.

“Err... what is that?” Rori asked suspiciously.

“You would probably call it a dreamcatcher,” Lanaya answered after a moment of thought.

“You mean, it will stop my nightmares?” Rori blurted out hopefully. Suddenly she didn’t care anymore that thing looked like a spider web. Lanaya could have handed her a heap of Ogre droppings and told her to place it on her head whenever she laid down to sleep and Rori would have gladly obeyed as long as the nightmares ended.

“No,” Lanaya said. The disappointment on Rori’s face was heartbreaking. “Stopping your nightmares would mean cutting you off from the Fade.”

“Then what is it good for?” Rori pouted.

“It will help you find the strength inside of you to face your demons,” Lanaya explained. “In your dreams, you enter the Fade but you don’t control the journey. The dreamcatcher will allow you to act instead of being thrown around like flotsam by the waves.”

“You mean, I’m going to morph into a mouse again?” Rori groaned and pulled a face.

“A mouse?” Lanaya frowned.

“We were once trapped in the Fade by a sloth demon,” Rori explained. “A mage showed me how he had managed to turn into a mouse and escape through a mousehole to another level of the demon’s dimension. Later I also learned how to turn into other... things. It was all very strange.” She shuddered at the memory, hugging herself.

“That is an extraordinary experience—especially since you aren’t a mage. Would you mind telling me the whole story some other time?” Lanaya asked. “As for your question, the dreamcatcher works differently for everybody. It does not have power of its own. It enables the strength inside of you.”

“So, what do I have to do with it?” Rori asked with her old bloody-blast-it attitude. She straightened and reached out for the circle of strings, beads, and feathers.

“We need a drop of your blood to activate it...”

“Bloodmagic!” I groaned in exasperation. “Why does it always have to be bloodmagic!? I’ve been trained to become a templar!”

“Your Chantry demonizes bloodmagic,” Lanaya observed.

“They have every reason to do so,” I snapped. Admittedly, I sounded rather meek. I felt somewhat obliged. That’s ten years of Chantry indoctrination for you.

“Well, I don’t give a damn,” Rori said matter-of-factly, already pulling her dagger from its sheath to prick her thumb. Lanaya guided her hand and one crimson droplet fell to the large bead in the middle of the web. A reddish gleam enwrapped the bead and spread across the strings. I felt the sparks of strong magic at work, setting my templar instincts on alert.

I opened my mouth to voice my qualms once more and shut it at once when Rori spun round with a smile so bright and hopeful it made her eyes shine. She pressed the dreamcatcher to her chest like a child would do with her most precious cuddly toy, convinced it would chase all the monsters away and keep her safe while she slept.

“Bedtime!” she cheered, grabbed my hand and bounced off towards the camp. She stopped dead to turn on her heels and pounce a rather startled Lanaya, hugging her tightly. “Oh thank you! Thank you!” She let go of the elf as quickly as she had lunged herself at her, took hold of my hand again and giddily dragged me along.

Maker have mercy! I prayed the Dalish artifact would allow Rori the rest she so desperately needed. And I really hoped I wouldn’t wake up next to an abomination someday.


	6. Science Is Truly Andrastian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Ashley Reid, she rocks!

The icy wind whipped my face as soon as I stepped onto the bridge leading to Avernus’s tower, partly cast in shadows, partly bathed in the pink glow of the rising sun.

“It’s too early!” I complained, wrapping my cloak tighter around me. “Why in the name of the Maker do we have to meet that old nutcase in the middle of the night?”

“The early bird catches the worm!” For someone who’s typically the antithesis of a morning person, Rori was very awake. A few days ago I would have suspected she hadn’t slept at all. Now, with that magical spider web Lanaya had given her, Rori had learned to deal with her nightmares and for four days in a row, she had slept like a log. Sure, she still had terrible nightmares but she wasn’t afraid of sleep anymore. The effect was miraculous. Less exhausted and stressed, she had managed to adjust to the increased darkspawn noise. She had regained her spitfire attitude and looked much more like herself again. The mischievous gleam had returned to her eyes, her cheeks were rosy, and an impish grin adorned her lips. With the chaotic mass of tousled red curls surrounding her head, she reminded me of a naughty pixie.

“Remind me to burn those blasted motto calendars once we return to the palace.”

“We have a tight schedule. Eamon expects you back in time for your coronation. We have to leave this afternoon or we won’t make it,” Rori lectured me as we entered the lab. “He said he would give the crown to Anora should you be late.”

“Don’t tempt me!”

Avernus’s lab had changed since the first time we walked in. The old skeletons, cobwebs, and thick layers of dust were gone. The formerly empty cages were filled with several darkspawn. One wall was lined with smaller cages, occupied by rats showing different states of darkspawn corruption. The pits were inhabited by more darkspawn. Shelves had been set up next to the stairs leading to the dais. Next to piles of books and notes there was a collection of jars with dubious content. Three desks—one tidy, all files neatly piled, the two others the epitome of chaos—stood left of the stairs. On the right was a dissecting table momentarily occupied by the stinking remains of a Genlock. On the dais in the middle of the room, the long table was lined with bottles and test tubes sitting atop small flames, liquids in different colors bubbled and hissed inside of them, glass pipes connected them like transparent tunnels. It smelled of ichor, Sulphur, and lyrium. The crackling of magic filled the room, alerting my templar senses. Above all, the skeletonized skull of the archdemon dangled from the ceiling, grinning toothily at us as if it knew something we didn’t.

“You redecorated. Charming!” I pulled a face. “Eww... Is this an eyeball swimming in this jar?”

“Don’t touch that! Best don’t touch anything!” Avernus barked, hobbling towards us. “Let’s not waste any time! I am getting weaker each day. You, too, don’t have any time to waste.” He poked his boney finger at Rori. “The test results of your blood show a far worse corruption than expected. You have ten years at a max before your Calling.”

“Ten?” Rori stammered. All color drained from her face. “But... I was told it would be thirty, more or less...”

“Less for you,” Avernus snapped. “The more contact you have with darkspawn, the stronger the taint inside of you, the shorter your life.”

“You make your point as delicately as ever,” I remarked dryly.

“The Calling, that’s when the dreams become really bad,” Rori gasped.

“That’s what they told you, did they?” Avernus sneered.

“That’s not the whole truth then?” I hardly dared to ask. Ten years for Rori. How many for me? As shocked as I was by Avernus’ revelation, I was king and that meant I had a whole lot more to worry and care about than my love and myself.

Avernus beckoned us towards his desk. He pushed aside some notes and files until a single huge tome came into view. It was bound in some kind of parchment or leather... Maker, was that... skin? Human skin? “See for yourself!”

Inhaling deeply Rori stretched out her hand to open the book. With trembling fingers, she turned the first few pages. I couldn’t decipher the writing on the left pages. The notes there were written in a language unknown to me. The right page, however, was covered with the whole-body image of a naked man. It was the very same man on every page and his change happened in front of our eyes as we turned page after page.

At first there were only small blackish marks on his right arm. We hardly noticed. But with every new drawing the mark grew bigger and new ones appeared in other places, on his chest, his thighs. First his skin was only blotched like that of those infected with the darkspawn corruption. Then the blotches became darker, thicker. The flesh was black and rotten like the darkspawn’s.

“Maker!” Rori gasped next to me, tears streaming down her cheeks. “His eyes! His eyes, they are like Hespith’s!”

We had skimmed through half of the tome and the eyes staring back at us had lost any trace of humanity. They had become bleary before the glow of insanity had taken hold of them. They were bloodhshot and the iris lost its original color; it became translucent, then turned red.

His lips shrank and shriveled until he wore a constant snarl, exposing an unnaturally sharp and pointy set of teeth. He had lost his hair, corrupted skin stretching across his bald skull.

Faster and faster we turned the pages, watching the man turn into the monster until at the very last page, there was nothing left of the man anymore. He had turned into a ghoul.

Rori cried out in horror. I just gaped. I doubt my brain really made the connection that moment. When it finally did, Rori’s had already started making plans. For now, Rori’s legs didn’t support her anymore and as mine were as wobbly as pudding as well, we sank to the floor together, sitting in a trembling huddle.

“No wonder they go to the Deep Roads when they change becomes obvious,” I muttered tonelessly. Duncan had been close to his Calling... I had always wished he wouldn’t have died in the Battle of Ostagar, but compared to the fate that would have awaited him had he survived, Ostagar was an act of mercy.

“Well, I for sure won’t go anywhere close the Deep Roads in case...” Rori snapped. “I’d rather jump off a cliff... Anything but the Deep Roads!” She angrily gritted her teeth. “Bloody blast it!” Rori breathed, wiping her nose at her sleeve. “This is not going to happen!”

“It has happened for the last eight hundred years. What do you think you’re going to do about it?” I croaked. I was so shocked I couldn't think straight.

“Find a cure, of course!” Rori snapped stubbornly.

“They’ve known this for centuries and didn’t find one! You only have ten years!” I felt like a dying duck in a thunderstorm.

“We ended a Blight within a year with only two Grey Warden recruits,” Rori hissed, lifting herself off the ground. “We survived slaying the archdemon. We certainly won’t sit down now and twiddle our thumbs until we turn into monsters!”

“The ghoul king and queen of Ferelden.” I couldn’t help it, I laughed out loud. Imagining Rori and me all blotched and corrupted with shiny crowns on our bald heads, snarling at the assembled Fereldan nobility. Priceless!

While I was rolling around on the ground in hysterics, Rori turned toward the three mages that had gathered around us. “There has to be something we can do! We bloody blast it have to give it a try at least!” Her voice was shaking and husky. She furiously wiped her tears away and stomped her foot. “There’s still the ashes of Andraste...” she added hopefully. “That would be awesomely easy, wouldn’t it?” She sighed, raking her fingers through her short hair. “But when has it ever been easy for us? Plan B? Sol?”

“We’ve had time to experiment with the potion from Flemeth’s grimoire, the one Morrigan used to protect your companions from the taint when you searched for Branka.” The dark-haired mage walked over to the rat cages. “These rats here were infected with the taint four months ago. We feed them the potion every day. As you can see they are all alive and still kicking. All those that did not receive the potion died within a week. We believe we can slow down your decay with this potion. Unfortunately, we don’t yet know the long-term effects.”

“Who cares?” Rori shrugged. “Can’t be worse than becoming a ghoul.”

She had a point there, you know.

“How much longer can we survive with this?” I asked when Solona handed both Rori and me our first potion.

“We don’t know. It depends on many things. Your own constitution. How much darkspawn contact you’ve already had, how much you will have in the future.”

“I suppose we shouldn’t dawdle finding that cure,” I observed.

“We could do so much more if only we had test objects other than rats...” Avernus began.

“No!” I snapped before Rori as much as opened her mouth.

“You would sacrifice your love for your morals?” Avernus croaked malignantly. It was like a slap in the face. The mere thought of Rori’s fate—and mine, but really, I didn’t care that much about myself that moment... Maker! She mustn’t die! Ten years seemed so far away and yet so close...

“I... I... no... yes,” I stammered, looking from Rori to Avernus. Maker have mercy! Condemn several dozen poor sods to be picked apart by a ruthless bloodmage for the sake of hundreds of Grey Wardens, myself, and my love, or put our lives at stake and face a terrible fate... How does someone make that kind of choice?

“Alistair’s just trying to do the right thing,” Rori defended me. I have to admit, she surprised me. It must have shown on my face as she took my hand and squeezed it lightly. She even managed one of her sweet smiles for me. The fear was still there in her eyes, but she set her jaws firmly and stubbornly.

“But blood magic is not altogether evil,” Jowan pointed out shyly. “The Grey Wardens use it for their Joining, the Chantry controls mages through philacteries. The Joining actually killed a whole lot of good men and women for a greater cause, and not all of them joined willingly. If we found a cure that way, how many Grey Wardens could we save?”

“Blood magic is what brought you here,” I retorted sharply.

“Yes,” he answered abashedly, his eyes cast down. “I... I cannot undo my deeds… the death I have caused. I... somehow, I have to make it right...”

“The archives of the Circle could give us more information,” Solona said quickly. “Someone has to travel to Weisshaupt. We cannot be the only ones who ever tried to find a cure in eight hundred years! Lanaya might allow us to study the magic of the Dalish. We also should talk to Brother Genitivi. He’s like a walking talking encyclopedia... And we do need more staff. Petra and Kinnon are suitable candidates. Oh, and Anders! He has a very creative mind—although he mostly uses it to plan his escape.”

“Greagoir will be delighted to hear we want to recruit more mages,” I remarked dryly. “Especially some more trouble makers.”

“Where else to find mages... Oh! Wait! Didn’t you say you’re in contact with the Mages’ Collective?” Solona thought out loud.

“How did you survive, Avernus?” Rori blurted out. “You are two hundred years old. The taint should have killed you ten times by now.”

“I have to admit, I don’t know for sure,” the old mage croaked. “I have a theory, of course. When the veil was torn, Warden’s Peak got caught in between the dimensions of our world and the Fade. It was neither here nor there. I suspect that this also changed the flow of time. It might also have had an effect on the taint itself.”

“So it has nothing to do with blood magic?” I dug deeper.

“I doubt it. It is possible for a blood mage to steal life from a victim. Also, it is known that abominations have a longer lifespan. Neither did I drain my precious test objects for my own sake, nor was or am I possessed. Now that the veil is closed once more, I can feel myself age with every day passing. My body will stop functioning long before the taint can destroy it.” The old mage paused for a moment. “My body will make for an interesting study subject.”

“Err... gross.” I shuddered.

“I guess we need to find a real cure,” Rori sighed. “I don't want to spend centuries in a demon-infested tower betwixt dimensions.”

“It’s not that bad,” Avernus remarked. “So much time for my research. I’d have never achieved that much knowledge with the short lifespan of a Grey Warden.”

“Besides the Calling, we have this heir problem,” Rori moved to the next item on her agenda.

“Darling, you will turn into a ghoul in about ten years,” Solona pointed out. “Alistair probably has a few more years. A baby is nothing you should be worried about.”

“A king needs an heir,” Rori insisted. “And yesssss,” she added defiantly, “he could marry someone else and increase his chances. That would be wise and reasonable and the right thing to do... Especially with this new revelation... Sucks as much as the last one I got to hear...” Her voice faded. She looked so very small as she stood there, hugging herself and talking to her feet. “These ten years... I don't want to spend them alone, bereft of any happiness. Alistair’s all I have. And I don’t want to end up like Anora... but I will without an heir.” Gloomily she added: “Cailan loved Anora. You’ve read the letters Empress Celene sent him. Anora’s time was over.”

“Ha, well, I very much doubt Celene will want to marry a Fereldan king now. Loghain made sure of that.” By the sour look on Rori’s face I was about to get my shin kicked. Smiling I embraced her, kissing the top of her head. “I wouldn’t want anybody but you. I love you.”

Solona went “Awwwwww!” Avernus, however, pulled a face. “A waste of time, that’s what it is,” he grumbled. “Are you done with your mawkishness?” He shoved an empty glass at me. “Here!”

“Err... what’s this for?” Suspiciously I gazed into the glass.

Avernus meanwhile had given another one to Jowan who immediately blushed a bright crimson. “Get that Gilmore lad in here. And two objects of comparison that are not Wardens. Preferably some that won’t talk. We can’t have any morons running around spilling the news.”

Gilmore arrived with Zevran and Oghren and they, too, received an empty glass. They looked equally puzzled.

“We gonna get drunk?” Oghren grunted. “Gal, whatcha want with these tiny glasses? Just gimme the bottle and I’ll be fine.”

“We need a semen sample from each of you,” Solona explained.

I shrieked “WHAT!?” and almost dropped my receptacle at the same time Zevran, dead serious, went: “The glass is too small.”

“Is it?” I wondered, turning it round in my hands. Zevran wiggled his eyebrows at me and smirked.

“We need to run some tests,” Solona said. “The comparison samples will help us pinpoint the problem and—hopefully—a solution. So, if you would please filled those containers...”

“Ya want all my baby batter?” Oghren boomed. “In a glass? All that time in that tower ain’t healthy for you mages. Ya get the strangest ideas. Oghren can show ya the real thing. Ooh, come to Oghren, ya long-limbed goddess. The pride of Orzammar is in the house!” Stretching out his arms for an embrace and leering at the mage, the dwarf bucked his hips.

The mage just beat him over the head with her staff. “Your sperm goes into this glass and nowhere else,” Solona said coolly.

“Err... sure... but... um... how?” Everybody turned to me as if I had asked something supremely stupid. My face was burning with embarrassment. Even my ears glowed red.

“I’m pretty sure Rori will give you a hand, your Highness,” Solona patted my shoulder as she shooed both Rori and me toward the screen Jowan and Gilmore had set up at one side of the room.

“A hand?” I asked, puzzled by Oghren and Zevran pumping their fists on their outstretched thumbs. Huh? HUH?

“Return the sample as soon as you have it.”

“What!? But... I... I don’t think... Maker! You can’t expect us to do THAT here!?” I squeaked once it occurred to me what I was supposed to do. My beloved fellow Warden’s face was as red as mine.

“Alas, Alistair, my royal friend, it wouldn’t be the first time we overheard your exertions with this beautiful Fereldan rose,” Zevran pointed out merrily. “I remember that one time in the mountains when you obviously did not waste any thought on the echo...”

“Whoa! Whoa! Awkward! We’re not talking about this, are we? Did I hit my head somewhere?” I groaned, turning my head from side to side to find any escape route. There was none.

“Well, if you don’t like the screen, there’s still the library,” Solona suggested.

“The library is hardly...”

“Alas, Alistair, my royal friend...”

“Whatever you intend to say, don’t!” I snapped, glowering at the elf.

“... I do recall it was this very library, Morrigan mentioned. Said she walked in on you and your darling Warden, catching you red handed.” Zevran grinned at me from ear to ear.

“Aye, hehe, with the boss, hehe,” Oghren chortled, rubbing his hands. “She’s gonna roll yer oats. Lucky bastard!”

"I gladly accept your offer to assist me..." Zevran said cheerfully as he hooked arms with Solona.

“I didn’t offer anything,” Solona hissed indignantly as she shook Zevran off.

“You Fereldans are so finicky!” the elf huffed. “Not much of a patriot, are you, my darling Solona? It’s for a higher cause after all—the continued existence of the Theirin bloodline lies in our hands! Hey Rori, my sweet Fereldan rose, you’re a patriot heart and soul… What about you?” He didn’t get to finish that sentence as I hurried out of the room with my betrothed and slammed the door shut in his face. Deviant bastard!

Leaning my back against the door, I stood there with my eyes closed, clutching the blasted glass in my hands. I could think of a whole lot of reasons why I shouldn’t do this and it wasn’t all about the audience waiting behind that door or the smirks I would get or the stupid jokes I would have to listen to for eternity. Not that eternity would be very long for Rori and me. Did we really want to have a child when certain death was awaiting us within ten years? Who would care for this child when we were gone? I had grown up without my parents and I didn’t want this fate for my own child. Not to mention our baby would one day be king or queen... There would have to be a regent...

“Okay, pants down!” Rori ordered, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s get this done.”

“How utterly romantic,” I pouted.

“What? You want me to light some candles first?” Rori retorted. Her expression softened as soon as the words had left her mouth. “I’m sorry, Alistair,” she murmured compunctiously, her eyes cast down. She shifted her weight uneasily and rubbed her hands at her thighs as she gave me an upwards glance, her large blue eyes dark with love and sorrow. She bit her lips, wavering in her incertitude. At least I wasn’t the only one having second thoughts. We were both lost, but at least we were lost together.

“Bloody blast it,” she muttered under her breath and, crossing the distance between us, she lifted her hand to gently caress my face.

Hesitantly at first, she grew more confident as she repeated the caress and gestures we so often had shared. When everything else fails, go lick a lamppost! That way you at least have some fun before everything comes crushing down on you again.

Rori’s fingertips whispered across my cheeks, brushed against my lips, followed my jawline across my chin and down my throat. Running her hands over my shoulders, she tilted her head back to flick her tongue against the hollow of my throat.

Maker’s Breath!

A whole lot of reasons why I shouldn’t do this; one why I would.

Her hot breath tickled my skin as she moved downwards, unbuttoning my shirt slowly, kissing every inch of skin she revealed. She teasingly circled her tongue around my nipples, nipping them with her teeth before she moved on, sliding her tongue down the vertical gap between my abs,

“That tickles,” I giggled when she dipped her tongue into my belly button. I was rewarded with an upwards glance, her eyes sparkling, and an impish grin. “Maker’s Breath, but you’re beautiful. Je t’aime, mon coeur.”

“You have the cutest accent,” Rori smiled.

“Cute!?” I sulked.

“And sexy.”

“Yessssss?” Ah, music to my ears! “Could you repeat that? I’m not sure I heard you correctly...”

“Very sexy,” Rori assured me, already pulling at the breeches of my pants. “Sexy and manly and strong and... oh hello there!” She kissed the tip of my manhood lightly as soon as it came into view.

“Hmm, maybe it’s not that bad a day after all,” I mused. “You remember it all has to go in this glass, yesssssssssssssssss...? MAKER’S BREATH!”

She swirled her tongue around my glans as her small hand circled around my shaft. Tugging at my waistband she had me sit down with her kneeling beside me. Next I was kissing her fiercely, my hands tearing at the ties of her blouse to free her large bosom. It heaved magnificently indeed. The light in her eyes was anything but pure, though.

Rori nipped my lower lip teasingly, trailing open-mouthed kisses down my neck while I thoroughly enjoyed fondling her breasts. Meanwhile, Rori slid her hand up and down my manhood, slowly first, then adding more pressure to her grip as her pace increased.

I moaned into her mouth when she kissed me, hissed in pleasure when she bit my neck and nibbled my earlobes. It was blissful oblivion and I had totally forgotten about our surroundings or the reason for our little encounter—until I gasped: “Maker! I'm cumming!”—and Rori hurriedly shoved that damn glass into my hands.

Disillusionment at its best!

“Do you think this is the right thing to do?” I wondered, suspiciously regarding the slimy contents of the glass. Err... eww... seeing it that closely it looked somewhat... gross.

“I don’t know.” Resting her head against my chest, Rori lazily ruffled my chest hair. Not that there was much there to ruffle. Oghren used to say he knew women with more chest hair.

Err... eww... let’s pretend I didn’t say anything about that...

“If they could fix our... umm... issues... do you really want a baby right now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we actually have a baby at all with the Calling and such?”

“I don’t know that either.” Rori frowned, stopping her caresses as she sat up and, to my utter disappointment, began to close her blouse. “Most of the time I don’t even know which way is up and which is down.” She paused, buttoning my shirt now as I was still clutching that stupid glass. “I guess I am just doing things for the sake of doing things.” She bit her lips thoughtfully as she tugged everything that belonged there back in my pants. “It gives me the illusion I can actually carry this through.” She wrinkled her nose. “Whatever this is.” Straightening she punched her fist at her palm. “We just bloody blast it give it a try and see what happens.”

Running around aimlessly without any clue where we were heading. Ha! We had reached expert levels of cluelessness during the Blight.

“Ah, okay, then we are agreed. Just wanted to make sure.” I winked at her, held up the glass as if toasting and intoned solemnly: “We have no clue what we are doing. Let’s get it done together!”

“Cheers!” Rori grinned.


	7. Try Again, Try Harder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by professional editing manager Ashley Reid. She does a great job.

“This is the virility of an average man.”

“To me it looks like a tomato vine in a pot,” I said. “Rather dull in comparison, huh?” Solona slapped the back of my hand when I tried to pluck one of the ripe tomatoes. “Hey! Ow! What is it with women that you always slap me! I bruise easily and...”

And that’s when Rori took my hand and patted it gently. “Pat it.” She pressed her lips at my hand. “Kiss it.” Brushed her thumb across my palm. “Stroke it.”

“Aw, come on, I’m not a baby...”

Rori flung her arms around my waist, completely ignoring my protest. “Hug it.” Formed a circle with her arms. “Three days sunshine.” Twinkled her fingers above her head, moving them down to chest height. “Three days rain.”

“I'm a man, you know. A manly man and... Ugh! Rori!”

She took my hands to clap them between hers. “Little hand all well again.” Then she pinched my cheek and tiptoed to kiss the tip of my nose. I opened my mouth to thoroughly complain but that’s when she grabbed me by the front of my shirt and kissed me breathless. Afterwards I was all flushed and grinning stupidly and had totally forgotten what to complain about.

“Gal, whatcha callin’ average?” Oghren grunted. “This is the pride of Orzammar yer talkin’ to!”

Solona rolled her eyes. “More like the prick of Orzammar,” she muttered under her breath. “This tomato vine represents the virility of an average man. The soil the fertility of an average woman, okay?” She lifted another pot onto the dissecting table. “And this is the virility of a Grey Warden.” It also was a tomato vine, a blackish shriveled one with mostly small rotten and rather smelly tomatoes. Only one branch still wore green leaves and a single tiny red fruit.

“Alas, average doesn’t seem that bad anymore,” Zevran remarked merrily.

“And this...” Solona heaved another pot onto the table. “... is your virility, Alistair.”

“HA!” I boomed, grinning from ear to ear. I hooked my thumbs in my waistband and smirked proudly at the average men. My tomato vine was twice as big as theirs with more and bigger tomatoes.

“The problem is...” Solona went on, a glass filled to the rim with ichor in her hand. “... this.” She poured the ichor into the soil and within the next minute the tomato vine began to shrivel and die as corruption spread over it.

“Oh blast!” Rori breathed. “That... that’s not good, is it?”

“Here.” Instead of an answer, Solona shoved a vial filled with a greenish liquid at me. Rori received a similar one.

“Errr... what is that?”

“A contraceptive,” the doe-eyed mage said flatly.

“You indeed aren’t much of a patriot,” I observed sullenly. “I do know it’s not the Fade spirits that bring babies.”

“Too bad,” Rori sighed. “Free delivery babies from the Fade. It would save us so much trouble.”

“The samples showed male Grey Wardens in comparison to normal men lose most of their virility,” Solona explained. “But not you.” She pointed at me. “You absolutely... overshoot...”

Next to me, Oghren and Zevran began to giggle. “Overshoot,” Oghren puffed and blowed, nudging the elf. “Get it? Overshoot! Hehehe.”

“It has to be something magical,” Solona mused, tapping her index finger at her chin. “Did something weird happen to you like... five months ago?”

“For real?” I groaned. “About anything that happened during the last year was somewhat weird.”

“Magically weird,” Solona specified.

“Well, that really narrows it down,” Rori said sarcastically. “Magically weird things that happened in Brecillian Forest. Where to begin?”

“Anyway, neither siring nor conceiving a child is a problem for you and Rori...”

“You breed like rabbits, my lovely friends,” Zevran translated helpfully.

“But Rori will miscarry over and over again as her taint is too strong,” Solona went on. “It’s like poison for the baby. Until we find a way to protect the baby, you shouldn’t risk another pregnancy.”

“And there I was hoping for some good news for once,” Rori sighed.

“You are an inveterate optimist,” I chortled.

“At least you had some fun finding out,” Rori mused.

“And here you go again,” I laughed. Grinning, we clinked our vials, toasted, and downed the contraceptive.

Afterwards, for the next hour I sat at Solona’s desk, doodled stick figures on the margins of important-looking papers, and fought about a piece of cheese with that greedy rat. Okay, it was his cheese, but really, he could have shared. It was a rather oversized piece for such a tiny animal. Even one with a Grey Warden appetite.

Meanwhile, Rori planned how to save our lives. It was mainly about what information we needed, where to get it from, and how to maintain lyrium supplies—me being king came in rather handy on that one. We also had to consider which people to recruit and how to finance the research. It was her way to deal with things. She opted for trial and error because there was nothing else she could do. My role was to see where she would lead and then trudge behind. I was far too overwhelmed by all the new (and rather unpleasant) revelations to really deal with them right now.

When Duncan had first told me I had about thirty years left until my Calling, I had just shrugged. Rori had taken the news with as much insouciance. We were so young, thirty years sounded like eternity for us. Ten years—now that was quite a difference. My first instinct was to bury my head in the sand and just pretend everything was fine. Unfortunately, the prospect of turning into a ghoul was hard to ignore. Dagna perhaps should add some special effects to her Alistair and Rori action figures...

“Alistair? Are you listening? You’re not stealing Cullen’s cheese, are you?”

Caught red handed when I had tried to shake the rat off the cheese by lifting both off the table, I dropped the gnawer and cheddar and offered Rori and Solona a wide, rather sheepish, and far too guilty grin.

“Stealing from a helpless, innocent animal! Shame on you!” Solona scolded me when Cullen hid in her sleeve, cheese between his teeth.

“Innocent!? He bit me!” I pouted, presenting my thumb as a proof. Rori sighed, rolled her eyes, cocked her head to one side and regarded me with that look—loving, amused, slightly unnerved. You most certainly have seen it on your woman’s face, too. It’s that look women wear when their men behave like big babies. It’s universal. “Ahhh, no, don't bother, my little hand is all well, really!” I hurried to say in order to save the shred of male dignity I still possessed before she could chant that nursery rhyme again.

Solona wanted three more samples of my overshooting virility for more research. When Rori and I finally delivered, I was kinda sore and walking funny and Rori had cramps in her wrist. I wasn’t looking forward to spending the rest of the day on horseback. I was drained... err... no, I don’t mean it like that! Okay, that too! But more like... emotionally exhausted.

Crossing the bridge again, the wind attacked us mercilessly once more. Right in the middle, Rori stopped so suddenly I bumped into her. She whirled round and biting her lips, regarding me thoughtfully for a moment. I had seen that look in her eyes before. “Alis....”

“No! Not again! Shush! Zip it! Silence! Don’t say a word!”

“Not again what?”

Instead of answering I swept her in my arms and kissed her. It was a smothering kiss, all extras included. The luxury version of a kiss. I had to make a point. One she would not question again. “How often do I have to repeat I want to marry you and nobody else?” I sighed, fumbling in my pocket for the ring. “I’ve asked Sandal to make a real engagement ring for you.” The daisy I had given her had joined the rose and had survived thanks to lyrium. I still wanted her to have a real ring. Rori wouldn’t have minded to go without one, but I’m rather old-fashioned when it comes to romance. “I wanted to wait for the perfect moment, but ...” I shrugged. Perfection wasn’t meant for us. We did have a lot of special moments. Very special. And though none of them had ever been perfect, they were still precious to me. Probably more than they would have been if everything had been perfect. I dropped the ring twice before I finally managed to slip it on her finger. Sandal had designed a ring of daisies with diamond petals and a dot of gold in the middle of each tiny flower. The young dwarf adored Rori and had poured all his heart into this enchantment. With Sandal one never knew about the outcome since he himself had no clue what he was doing. I was sure, though, this ring would turn out to be something extraordinary.

“This is beautiful!” Rori gasped, smiling broadly at me. “Oh Alistair, I love it! And I love you! More than the ring. Of course. Much more. Very very much more... Ah, blast it!”

“And I love you. That’s all we need to know,” I chuckled.

“Well... I would like to know about a cure for that blasted Calling,” Rori muttered.

“If anybody can find one, it’s you.”

Flinging her arms around me, Rori pressed to my chest, snuggling into the warmth of my fur-trimmed cloak. I wrapped my arms around her tightly, closing my eyes when I rested my cheek against her head. We stood there, holding each other while the wind howled around us, tearing at our clothes. We braved the storm huddled together, finding strength and comfort in each other— until my ears became so cold I feared they would fall off. What a sight that would be! A king without ears… So, enough braving the storm. We certainly wouldn’t run out of headwind, considering what lay ahead of us.

Two days later, close to Vigil’s Watch, we encountered a large group of darkspawn at a burned down farm house. Really, what were they still doing here?

They quickly learned they would have been better off going underground. Rori and I attracted darkspawn like shit attracts flies—Oghren’s words, not mine. He had a point, though. The beasts dropped everything to charge us as soon as we came into sight. Teagan was right at our side, sweating and cursing under his breath.

“It’s easier to herd cats than to look after you!” he grunted, blocking a blow that could have easily split my skull.

I was too busy fending off half a dozen Genlocks to think of a smart reply. Rori at my back made it around a dozen.

Yeah, we were quite busy staying alive. Ahhh, the good old days...

Meanwhile, with a battle cry, Sten swung his sword against an attacking ogre—once he had climbed off his horse. His riding skills make Master Dennet weep only thinking about it. Even I pale in comparison. And honestly, I don't think I’m as bad as they say I am. It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Everybody expects me to fall off my horse... What? Oh, yeah, the darkspawn...

It was the largest ogre I’ve ever seen; a giant of its kind. Its black skin maimed by dozens of nasty scars. I call myself lucky it decided to go for the larger warriors of our group—namely Shale and Sten. It grabbed the golem and, with some effort, lifted her off the ground, roaring in her face as it tried to squish her rather unsuccessfully.

“It is moments like this when I am grateful for the inability to smell,” Shale sighed with a frown but remained otherwise unperturbed. She wiped the ogre spittle off her face then head-butted it, breaking its ugly nose. Hollering in pain, the ogre flung Shale aside, knocking down several soldiers and darkspawn when the golem crashed into them.

That’s when Sten arrived. A force of his own, he collided with the ogre and drove it backwards, lifting his huge sword to strike and bring it down on the ogre’s arm in a forceful arch. Steel cut through flesh and bone, slicing off the limb. The ogre countered by punching Sten in the chest, sending him to the ground. It lifted its large foot to smash the Qunari when a heavy rock hauled by Shale hit the back of its head so forcefully it broke through the bone and got stuck in the skull. The ogre’s eyes rolled back in its sockets and the large beast tumbled over. The golem hurried to help Sten back to his feet, and together they re-entered battle.

All the time we were fighting I couldnt shake the feeling there was something… off. I mean, there was all this darkspawn and they behaved like they always do, lots of snarling and snorting and trying to chop our heads off. Business as usual... But still, something was different... I didn’t know what it was but my gut told me to be careful... Until Shale began flirting with Sten. That was so damn odd, I completely forgot about the darkspawn.

When the last darkspawn had bit the dust, the golem constrainedly stalked around Sten. “I wish to say that it has been pleasant fighting at the Qunari’s side,” Shale finally boomed, watching her feet as if she had never seen them before.

“I feel the same,” Sten answered after a moment’s hesitation and several attempts to clear his throat. “You are a remarkable construct, kadan. A warrior to be feared.”

“No more than the Qunari, surely. The way it strikes down its foes, marvelous!” Shale raved, her eyes shining.

“I smile each time you roar a battle cry, knowing our foes tremble,” Sten admitted. I swear he blushed.

By then the two of them had an audience.

“Awww, this is so cute!” Leliana chirped, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Alas, who would have thought our grumpy Qunari friend is a philanderer,” Zevran remarked cheerfully.

“Hmph, his taste in women is somewhat... strange.” Oghren shook his head in disbelief.

“I always thought you dwarves love stone,” I said.

“I could watch you fight all day long,” Shale went on dreamily. “The skill you display, the form, how the light plays on its muscles...” Shale’s voice faded. Embarrassed she shifted her weight when the giggling behind her back grew louder. Leliana even squealed. “I mean... yes. Well done. With the fighting.”

“You, as well.” Sten uneasily cleared his throat.

“Right,” Shale muttered curtly, glowering at her grinning companions. She certainly was tempted to crush some heads.

“Big softie,” Leliana smirked, passing by the stupidly grinning Qunari. The smile fell off his face at once, replaced by sheer grumpiness. “Oh Shale, my dear, I think I haven’t yet told you how Sten led the attack at the gates during the Battle of Denerim. It’s a marevelous tale of a fearsome warrior striking his foes and the light that plays on his muscles...”

“The sister seems to have a death wish,” the golem grumbled.

Rori, meanwhile, was standing amidst dead darkspawn and frowned.

“Hey! You’ve missed Shale hitting on Sten! And the other way round!” I chuckled, truly amused. Admittedly I wouldn’t have noticed without Zevran and Leliana pointing it out to me.

“As long as they don’t kill each other,” Rori muttered absentmindedly. “Like the darkspawn.”

“No, that’s not what I meant by hitting... err... what do you mean? And what are you doing?”

Rori crawled around on hands and knees and plucked arrows from darkspawn corpses. “Why would darkspawn kill their own kin?” she wondered, showing the arrows to me. Definitely darkspawn crafted.

“I don’t know. Friendly fire? They accidentally hit their buddies? Oh, there are more of them. Boy, that archer must have been drunk. Do darkspawn get drunk? And this one has a darkspawn axe stuck in its darkspawn skull.... Weird... Perhaps they are confused without the archdemon leading them?”

“They share a group mind. They feel and think and act as one. Them killing each other is like you cutting off your own arm.”

“There was a templar once who cut off his arm because he was convinced it was possessed... That’s what lyrium can do to your mind, you know. It was an awful mess... Ugh... Anyway, darkspawn killing each other—best thing that can possibly happen, isn’t it? Saves us some effort.”

“I’m not sure. I don’t like this. Not at all.” Rori shrugged, then putting her hand on my arm led me farther away from our companions. “Do you think it’s related to you-know-what?” Rori whispered to me.

“I was wondering about that since they don’t seem to be in much of a hurry to return to the Deep Roads,” I admitted uneasily. “But why kill their kin?”

Rori shrugged, hugging herself uncomfortably. “Perhaps our Grey Warden reinforcements can tell us?”

“Ahh, haha, yeah, them... They haven’t arrived yet from Orlais, but they’ve already sent... questions.” Actually their letter had read: WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE!? STAY WHERE YOU ARE! DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID! WE’RE ON OUR WAY! “What should I tell them?”

“Umm? Certainly not the truth?” Rori grinned sheepishly.

“That a maleficar saved you and then ran off to have my demon baby? That has a certain ring to it, right?” I chuckled.

“I so would love to see their faces,” Rori giggled.

“Ha! Yeah! But, no... I think I will keep that to myself. I can shrug and look stupid. It’s a talent.”

“Oh, you are a man with many talents,” Rori purred, the sound of her voice sending shivers of pleasant anticipation down my spine. I suddenly couldn’t wait to return to Denerim and our bedroom. I wondered if by now they had gotten that dressing table with the mirror... “What if our decision has... consequences?” Rori clonked the darkspawn arrow against my armor and POOF went my soggy day dream. “We might have to tell them.”

“Perhaps all this has absolutely nothing to do with us?” I said hopefully.

“Your word to the Maker’s ear!”

Denerim came into view a few days later and it was quite obvious Levi hadn’t wasted any time rebuilding the city. The capital was buzzing like a beehive; there was activity everywhere. Men, women, children—everybody able to work was up and about. A spirit of optimism joined by a vibe of hope and determination had brought Ferelden’s people together to make things happen. Upon our arrival we were greeted by cheers and applause. It felt so odd. I mean, nobody had ever cheered when I had arrived somewhere. Quite the contrary. Back at the Chantry my appearance usually made everybody groan and shake their heads in exasperation. And now people gathered around me, trying to touch me as if I were some walking talking good-luck charm. I did so much waving and smiling my arm felt like falling off and my face was rather stiff when we finally arrived at the palace.

I had expected Eamon to be the first one to greet me. He was beaten to it by Ser Cauthrien. She came running as soon as we passed the gates and jogged next to my horse to talk to me.

“Hey! Dagna made an artificial arm for you!” I observed with a smile. Cauthrien did not smile. Quite the contrary.

“That dwarf is a lunatic! You have to stop her! Look at what she did!” Cauthrien waved her arm in front of my nose.

“It seems to work quite well. What is wrong with it?”

“What is wrong with it!? Well, this is wrong with it!” The female knight raised her artificial arm, a dark metallic thing with many glinting runes. She shifted her wrist, her hand folded back and flames shot from the opening, causing everybody close by to run for cover.

“WHOA! COOL! A flamethrower!” I exclaimed excitedly.

Cauthrien glowered at me just as she had done when I had been the traitor and Loghain her hero. “Not cool,” she snapped.

“Nooooooo?”

“Two fingertips shoot poisonous arrows! One is a grapnel,” Cauthrien hissed angrily. “The thumb is a lighter and the index finger includes a toothpick, scissors, a saw, a corkscrew, a nail file, a knife, and a cheese knife!”

“And this is not cool because…” I wondered out loud since to me it sounded awesomely cool. I was actually quite envious. The cheese knife especially could come in handy sometimes...

Instead of an answer, Cauthrien pressed a button and a tiny crossbow emerged from her arm, pointing at me.

“Not cool because…” I repeated.

“She just wants an arm that’s an arm,” Rori butted in. “This is an arm-ory!”

“An arm that’s only an arm sounds rather dull in comparison, doesn’t it?”

“Boys and their toys!” Rori snorted, rolling her eyes as she unsuccessfully tried to bite back a grin. “I’ll talk to Dagna.” Knowing Rori and how she and Dagna worked together, Cauthrien’s arm afterwards would likely spray toxic gas in addition.

“PUP!” Angus Mac Eanraig roared as soon as he caught sight of us. The bulky giant of a man bounced down a set of stairs with the giddy excitement of a little child, grinning from ear to ear.

“Uncle Angus!” Rori cheered at seeing her uncle up and about. “Hey, you got a new peg leg. Dagna’s work? What can you do with it?”

“I can walk with it,” the red haired giant said slowly, frowning at her question. “Pup, there’s something...”

“Yes, but what about the special features?” Rori interrupted, suspiciously eyeing her uncle’s leg.

“Whatcha talking about? It’s a leg. A fine one, too.”

“Cauthrien’s arm includes a cross bow and a flamethrower, knives and such...”

“What!? I gotta talk to that dwarf,” Angus muttered sullenly. “And you, you should talk to your brother, Pup.”

“Fer-fergus!?” Rori gasped, stunned.

“That’s the only one I know of… unless your father shared Maric’s habits and sired a bastard,” Bann Mac Eanraig chuckled.

“He... he’s alive? He’s here? Of course he is. Stupid question, huh? Um, wow... my brother...” Rori grinned sheepishly, nervous and excited, happy and sad at the same time. “But... what should I tell him? About mother and father, Oriana and Oren?”

“You want me to come with you?” I asked, reassuringly squeezing her hands.

“That’s sweet, but... no... I... I’d rather... you don’t mind, do you?” Rori stumbled over her own words.

“I don’t mind at all. I’ll be around if you need me.” I smiled, nuzzling her nose, earning myself a smile in return.

“Off you go,” Angus said, gently pushing her in the right direction. “He’s waiting for you in Alistair’s office. And I will talk to that dwarf.”

“Oh, I’ll come with you,” I said. “I have some really great ideas about how to pimp my throne...”


	8. Oh Brother!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another edited chapter by Ashley Reid. Thank you so much!

Like a whirlwind Rori burst through the door leading to my royal office. “Fergus!” she cried and laughed at the same time, flinging herself at the tall dark-haired man in exuberant joy. Fergus was almost thrown back into the armchair he had been sitting in before Rori’s sudden entrance startled him out of his slumber.

“Ugh, Pup! You gained some weight!” Fergus laughed, lifting his sister off the ground with feigned effort.

Rori punched his chest playfully when he set her down after twirling her around twice. “It’s not me! It’s you being out of shape, you wimp!”

“Compared to you, I suppose that is what I am,” Fergus smiled, ruffling her curly hair lovingly. “When I heard that my little sister was not only a Grey Warden but also leading Ferelden into battle, I was quite surprised to put it mildly.”

“I didn’t lead Ferelden anywhere,” Rori protested meekly. “That was Alistair’s part. But he believes it would blow his cover if he admitted he actually has leadership qualities. So, he gives me all the credit.”

She was already sick and tired of the spotlight on her. She knew she wasn’t the hero everybody believed her to be—not with what she had done to survive this battle. Being a natural trickster, she didn’t really feel guilty—that was my part, complete with all the fretting and what-if scenarios and such. Rori was too busy planning her future to be stuck in the past. Her main goal was to stay alive. She used to say she would deal with the havoc a demon brat with the soul of an old god could cause when time would come.

The attention she got unnerved her, having to pretend that everything was just as it was supposed to be. Rogues like her would rather stay unnoticed. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to make the best of her situation and shamelessly use her fame to her advantage.

“Father...” Fergus began in a choked voice, ignoring her mumbling. “He would have been proud of you. I know I am. You’ve done well.” He forced a smile upon his face and put his hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“Done well?” Rori snorted, poking her brother’s chest when he was close to bursting into tears. “Now, that’s a mighty big understatement. I saved the fucking world!”

“And found yourself a husband while you were at it,” Fergus grinned, wiping the corners of his eyes while Rori did him a favor and looked away, pretending she didn’t notice. “Our dear cousins told me everything about your... romance. You and your prince didn’t miss out on anything, did you?”

“Everything, huh…” Rori squeaked, blushing a deeper shade of pink.

“Everything.” Fergus confirmed, nudging her shoulder. “You saucy little minx!”

“They exaggerated,” Rori dead-panned, causing her brother to laugh out loud. “And we did miss out on a whole lot of things according to Zev...”

“Well, you’ll have much time to catch up on whatever you missed,” he grinned. Rori poked her tongue out at him. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment at her brother’s merciless teasing. “My little sister... marrying the king. All I can think about is what mother would have said about that.”

“Every Jill finds her Jack,” Rori imitated her mother’s voice. “I always knew the girl would make us proud. Didn’t I tell you, Bryce, to leave her alone and not push her? And haven’t I been right?” Actually it had been Bryce Cousland to keep his wife from urging their daughter to marry. He had been far more laid back about that matter.

“Ha! That’s exactly what she would have said!” Fergus chuckled. “And father would have smiled and said with a tinge of mockery: What would I do without you, Eleanor?”

“And she would have given him the look!” Rori pointed two fingers at her eyes and glared intensely at her brother.

“You always knew you were in deep shit trouble when she gave you the look,” Fergus sighed. “Father could wrap her around his little finger, though. She never could be mad at him for long.”

“Maker! She would have picked poor Alistair apart,” Rori giggled. “She would have given him the look and he would have started to sweat and become all flustered, blushing from head to toe and stammering nonsense, unable to think straight.”

“So, you think you are the right man for my daughter?” Fergus imitated his mother. “What exactly makes you think so? You obviously convinced her. Now convince me. Just in case you don’t know, I have the habit of keelhauling men who mess with me.”

The siblings smiled sadly at each other. “I still can’t believe they’re gone,” Rori whispered, wiping the corners of her eyes angrily. “Somehow I still expect them to just enter the room. Mama scolding me for dropping all my clothes onto the floor and the dog sleeping on top of them. And every time I put my swords on a table, I hear her voice: ‘A lady does not place her weapons on the table.’”

“Maaamaaa! It’s just my daaaaggers,” Fergus whined, parroting his little sister. They both laughed at the memory of happier times. It was a bittersweet moment of realization of what they had lost.

“What happened to you, Fergus?” Rori asked into the following silence. “Where have you been all the time?”

“I never made it to the battle at Ostagar. We were still scouting in the Wilds when we were attacked by a party of darkspawn. Most of my men were killed,” Fergus said gloomily. “I suppose, that’s what saved my life. I woke up two weeks later in a Chasind hut, wounded and feverish. I was told I was hallucinating and for some time I didn’t even know who I was. When I was finally strong enough to travel, there were darkspawn everywhere. So, I was forced to stay with the Chasind. By the time I was able to sneak out of the Wilds, you were already marching on Denerim.”

“You missed the whole Blight! Now, that’s not going to make for a good story to tell your grandchildren.”

“I’m afraid I will be a disappointment indeed. At least their aunt has some stories to tell.”

“Most of them are X-rated,” Rori remarked. “Wait… it’s not what you’re thinking! Stop grinning! You’re such a jerk! Really! I mean, we’ve seen... horrible things. Things you would never tell a child...”

“Ho-hum.” Fergus smirked.

“Jerk!” Rori huffed, punching his chest.

“I tried to get word to Highever,” her brother switched the conversational tone back to serious. “You can imagine what happened, I suppose. I can call myself lucky the Chasind took me in. Howe couldn’t get to me there. The assassins he sent, they never left the Wilds alive.”

“I’m so sorry about Oriana and Oren,” Rori whispered hoarsely. “And about mother and father. I... I shouldn’t have left them... I should have stayed and fought to defend them...” She hid her face in her hands at the memory of her mother cradling her dying father in her arms. Duncan had dragged her away from her parents. Her palms slick with her father’s blood, she had grabbed for their hands, had tried to hold on when they both had pushed her away. She had kicked and screamed when Duncan had thrown her over his shoulder and hurried down the tunnel that led them out of the castle while she had uselessly drummed her fists at his back. “They didn't deserve to die like that!” she cried.

“Rori, I do not blame you and you should not blame yourself either,” Fergus whispered. “You would have died, too. I’m... trying not to think too much about... them... and my wife and... my son.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“It’s not. Not at all.” Fergus sighed, running his fingers through his thick dark hair uneasily. “I try to keep myself busy, and then suddenly I get assailed by memories... triggered by a scent, a word, a song...” Rori hugged him tight. Briefly, he returned the hug before pushing her away, gentle but determined. The Couslands were made of sterner stuff. None of them would just bury their heads in the sand. There was no way to go back, so they would move forward. “Howe was a greedy, treacherous bastard,” Fergus growled. “I just wish I had been there to help you kill him.”

“He got what he deserved,” Rori pressed through gritted teeth, recalling all the painful details of what Howe had spat in her face about her parents’ fate, about Oren and Oriana. She wouldn’t repeat any of this in front of her brother. She had gone far too easy on Howe. He had deserved so much more than she had been able to give.

“You really got a bang out of this Blight.”

“You haven’t the faintest idea! I really left nothing out,” Rori confirmed sarcastically.

“I need to go back to Highever as soon as possible. See if I can clean up some of the mess Howe made of it... And arrange my wedding.”

“Your wedding?”

Fergus slumped into the armchair, his arms resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. “You and I are the only Couslands left. I need an heir and therefore I will have to marry as soon as possible,” he muttered, his voice muffled. “Lord Orion, Oriana’s father, is interested in marrying one of her younger sisters away and he is so in love with my title that he is willing to give me another chance. His money will help me rebuilt Highever.” Fergus straightened up, his expression one of utter unhappiness when he met his sister’s gaze. “It... it doesn’t feel right, even though I know it’s the right thing to do.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Rori sighed. She sat on the armrest of the chair and patted her brother’s shoulder.

“You’re not saying your own wedding is a political decision?” Fergus asked sharply.

“Quite the contrary.” Rori admitted compunctiously. Then a rapt smile lit her whole face, making her eyes sparkle and her cheeks blush. “I love him, Fergus! There are no words to say how much I love him!” she exclaimed with exuberant joy. “Alistair... he... makes me laugh. You have no idea how important that is when there’s only tragedy and chaos all around. He’s always there for me. I find strength in him when I am weak. Without him... Blast! I cannot even imagine life without him. He’s a good man. A strong man. And cute...”

“Cute?” Fergus laughed. “That’s just what every man wants to hear. I bet he’s delighted.”

“What in the name of the Maker is wrong with you guys? There’s nothing wrong with being cute!” Rori swatted at him, clearly annoyed. “Fine, Alistair’s also really manly and handsome— in a manly way—and... Whew! Sexy... Oh stop laughing, Fergus! You’re such a jerk!”

“Wow,” Fergus chuckled. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Yes,” Rori admitted, grinning from ear to ear. “Very very very bad.” Her smile faded when she saw the grief in her brother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Fergus. Here I am babbling about Alistair when you...”

“No sorries, no worries, Pup. You deserve your happiness. And I am delighted for you. Not as delighted as mother would be. She’d be planning your wedding by now and you’d have nothing to say about it.”

“Just because that’s what she did with your wedding doesn’t mean I would have allowed her to do the same with mine.”

“There’s a reason why father called her the Admiral, you know.”

“He didn’t!”

“Not when she was around. He was afraid she’d have him keelhauled.”

“Again.”

“Again,” Fergus laughed. “Now, are you going to introduce me to your Prince? I am curious to meet the man who’s swept my little sister of her feet. He succeeded where so many before had failed. I’m not sure if I should congratulate or pity him...”

“You shouldn’t be too hard to yourself, Fergus. You won’t make that bad a brother-in-law,” Rori retorted.

“He should have had enough time by now getting used to the Cousland humor,” Fergus chortled in agreement. “I’m also your closest male relative. He actually has to ask my permission...”

“The poor boy already had to ask Uncle Angus!”

“He has my deepest sympathy.”

“Let’s see if we can find him. I know most of his hiding places by now, for when he tries to avoid Eamon.”

She didn’t have to search for long as I was in our suite, cornered by a man who claimed to be my butler. I swear, he was a creature from my worst nightmares. Rori had sassy little Amethyne, and I was stuck with Arlington, the Butler of Horror! He was very tall and thin as a rake, with extremely short blonde hair. By his looks he was in his mid-twenties, but was much older in the way he behaved. Compared to him a tranquil was a great joker. From the very moment he had gotten hold of me he found fault in everything I did. Obviously Eamon had briefed him to help me with my kingliness. I soon learned that I walked, talked, dressed, and looked anything but kingly.

When Rori burst through the door with her brother in tow—Maker! Hadn’t anybody taught that girl to knock!?—I was in my smallclothes and in the middle of a tug-war with Arlington, each of us pulling at one leg of my pants. It was easier to retrieve my boots from Barkley’s jaws than to loosen Arlington’s grip on my pants.

“Alistair! This is my bro...” Rori cheered, then stopped dead. “Err... what are you doing?”

“Obviously,” I pressed through gritted teeth. “Kings are not allowed to dress themselves!”

“Your Highness, stop behaving childishly!” Arlington scolded me, letting go of the pant leg as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. Without him pulling, I lost balance, tumbled backwards into the hanging rail, flailing my arms and ripping clothes off their hangers. “Arl Eamon says you cannot walk around in these rags!”

“I can very well choose my outfit myself!” I muttered sullenly while Rori pulled me back to my feet.

Arlington snorted indignantly and raised an eyebrow in reply.

All right! My wardrobe until then had only consisted of three shirts—one usually commandeered by Rori as a nightdress, two pants, four pairs of socks and as many smallclothes. I would have loved to keep it that way. I felt comfortable in my old worn clothes with all the patches and stains. I looked like myself when I wore them. I felt like myself. Obviously, that wasn’t allowed anymore.

Now there were several shirts of different colors and material, vests, trousers, jackets, cloaks, coats, drawers filled with socks and smallclothes and a dozen boots and shoes in different shapes and colors. This incredible amount of clothing came in a myriad of different combinations that made the puzzles we had solved during the Blight seem trivial. I felt dizzy and lost in my own blasted walk-in closet—another of Meghren’s alterations to the original palace. It was larger than the dorm I had shared with five other apprentices during my templar time. The only thing I very much appreciated was the floor-to-ceiling mirror with the two wings at the far end of my closet. The usage I had in mind for it didn’t involve any clothes, though.

“Wow,” Rori said. “That’s... a whole lot of clothes. One should think there are more important things to do, what with the archdemon having burnt down the city than tailoring a new wardrobe for the king.”

Maker! My sentiments exactly!

Not Arlington’s. He glared daggers at Rori.

I immediately hid behind my betrothed, hoping she would defend me. She had slain an archdemon, after all. I hoped that would make for enough intimidation potential to scare the butler away! Alas, hope failed. Arlington crossed his arms in front of his chest and stayed where he was.

“Arl Eamon says his Highness has to dress properly for the different duties he will have as king,” he insisted. “The choice of appropriate attire is essential for the impression he makes. Arl Eamon says it is of the utmost importance.”

“Really? What does anybody care what I wear?” I wondered. I hadn’t cared. Not once. Actually, I cared far more about what Rori wore. And then I took care that she got rid of whatever it was.

“Arl Eamon says this is the attire you should wear tomorrow for your coronation,” Arlington went on, completely unperturbed by my unwillingness.

“Maker!” Rori, Fergus, and I gasped in unison when Arlington presented my outfit.

It was a whole lot of velvet and broidery, the colors were a shiny blue and green. I had visions of chasing felons through the city dressed in that... stuff... It was laughably terrible. 

“I am not going to wear that!” I protested.

“Arl Eamon says Lady Isolde has chosen it personally,” the butler informed us, ignoring my proclamation.

“Oh wow, now this has to be love indeed,” Fergus observed. “The woman has no taste.”

“She hates me,” I groaned. “I am going to look like a giant...”

“... blowfly,” Rori said mercilessly.

“I wanted to say peacock but now that you mention it...”

“Arl Eamon says...” Arlington began once more.

“Arl Eamon seems to be rather talkative,” Fergus remarked.

Rori and I looked at each other at the same time. The corners of my mouth were twitching when I began to hum the tune. She grinned from ear to ear, inhaling deeply, then burst into a song, me joining in at once. “Put your hands in the air!” we sang, raising our arms. “Eamon Guerrin says. Shake them all about! Eamon Guerrin says. Do it when Eamon says, Eamon Guerrin says. And you will never be out!”

That was when Arlington left in a huff, probably to preach against me in front of Eamon, and Fergus laughed, “You are indeed this Jack’s Jill.”

“Alistair, this is my brother Fergus,” Rori finally introduced us and I got to shake hands with the Teyrn of Highever while still wearing no more than my smallclothes. After Arlington had shown me what I was supposed to wear for my coronation, smallclothes couldn’t make me feel embarrassed anymore.

“Excuse me for staring,” Fergus chuckled. “I just cannot believe my sister found a man she would marry voluntarily. You have no idea how hard mother worked to marry my dear little sister off. It was actually the last thing she did in life, planning her daughter’s marriage.”

“Huh?” Rori asked.

“What do you think Lady Landra was doing there with her son in tow?” Fergus nudged her ribs. “It was one of mother’s sneaky plans to hook you up with Dairren. She would have left with Lady Landra, but Dairren was supposed to stay and Oriana would have chaperoned.”

“No!”

“Yes!” Fergus smirked. “And Dairren wasn’t loath to do like the ladies had hatched it.”

“He wasn’t?”

“Maker, Rori! Haven’t you noticed the way he looked at you during dinner? He was devouring you with his eyes!”

“Err... really?”

“He was looking at nothing but you the entire time!”

“I thought he was checking out the weapons displayed on the wall behind me...”

“How exactly did you manage to catch her attention?” Fergus asked me.

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together,” I laughed.

"He's so valiant when he bashes in darkspawn skulls with floral arrangements," Rori raved, batting her eyelashes at me as she leant against my chest. "And his rosy scent... it's overpowering!"

“And then there’s my cooking skills of course. They’d sweep anybody off their feet.”

“The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach,” Fergus chuckled.

“Oh yes, he always would nurse me back to health after the consumption of his infamous stews,” Rori giggled, snuggling against me with her arms wrapped around my waist. I nuzzled the top of her head and smiled like a moonstruck fool.

“Maker! You have an audience, remember? At least allow me to leave before you move on!”

“We didn’t do anything!” Rori protested.

“Oh yeah? My little sister in the arms of a man in his smallclothes… that’s not what I’d call nothing,” Fergus teased her. Then he pinched her cheek and ruffled her hair lovingly. “Take care of yourself, you hear? Or I’ll find you and nag you like mother did until you’re ready to tear out your hair.”

“You’ll stay for the coronation, won’t you?”

“Of course! I don’t want to miss Alistair in this outfit—not for money nor love!”

“Maker preserve me!” I groaned. “No! No way am I going to put that on! I need some help. I need...”

“Leliana!” Rori exclaimed. “She’ll find you something to wear.” And before I could protest she left me standing there with her brother to find the bard.

“Holy Maker! I’m going to meet my end as a fashion victim,” I sighed while Fergus patted my shoulder in heartfelt sympathy.

Shortly later a delighted Leliana was skipping through my wardrobe, searching for something wearable after she had decided the costume Isolde had chosen was a no-go. Fergus had left me alone—some friend!—and I was at the mercy of my so-called advisors.

“This is absolutely not Alistair,” Leliana informed Arlington who had returned with a clearly unnerved Eamon in tow.

“And that is the reason why he will wear it,” Eamon insisted. “He has to act the part of the king.”

“I do not act the part of the king; I am the king,” I retorted. Yeah, this was only about some clothes. I could have given in easily. I mean, all my life I had worn whatever I had been given without complaining. Look at the ridiculous robes the brothers wear at the Chantry! But this was different. It was essential.

You know, Eamon really meant well. He wanted to help me play my role and prevent any damage I could possibly cause. With all the reports he had gotten from the monastery regarding my templar training, poor old Eamon had gotten the impression I couldn’t find my way without somebody holding my hand and taking the lead. After Duncan had recruited me, I followed his orders. And when he was gone, Rori became the one in charge. Now, I was supposed to rule a country. Eamon naturally thought he would be the man pulling the strings. He really couldn’t be blamed.

That moment when Eamon stared at me slack-jawed for talking back, when his expression showed irritation and shocked surprise, I realized I would have to fight for control over my life or I would indeed become the puppet Loghain and Anora had thought me to be.

“Listen, I will consider your advice,” I made clear. “But I will be the one to decide. That’s how it works.”

Eamon wore that look he had in storage for pig-headed brats that clearly overstepped their bounds. He swallowed his annoyance with extreme effort and pressed through gritted teeth: “Very well, your Highness. You may choose.”

Oh wow! That had been easier than I had expected...

Next three people turned their backs on me, discussing what I was going to wear and I was left out, reduced to perform as their dressing doll whenever they felt like tossing clothes at me to try on.

Blast! That hadn’t worked out the way I had planned.

Sighing, I began to examine the hangers and drawers myself. Maker’s Breath! How many kings did they want to dress? One individual surely could never, not in a lifetime, possibly wear all these outfits!

“He’s not like the kings before and he will never be. Instead of trying to change him, make him a trademark,” Leliana offered.

“What about the kilt Uncle Angus gave Alistair as a coronation gift?” Rori suggested. “The Theirins didn’t have a tartan pattern so Angus had one designed for them.”

“He is already strongly connected to Northern Ferelden through his upcoming marriage,” Leliana pointed out. “Wearing this gift for his coronation could cause serious alienation between him and the Bannorn.”

Really?! Maker! And they call me childish!

Still in my smallclothes and fed up with the dressing game, I decided to get dressed all by myself. I rummaged around and indeed found awesomely practical black leather pants and a simple grey shirt. While Leliana was explaining to Eamon why yellow so wasn’t my color regardless of the Theirin crest, I discovered some kind of tapered frock-coat reaching mid-thigh, the silver buttons engraved with the Theirin mabari. It was grey with some silvery embroidery at the hem and cuffs. Ornamental without being, you know, girlish. No flowers or such things. Actually it reminded me a bit of waves at the sea. It was all very manly...

Great, now socks... Until that very moment I had kept the erroneous belief that socks just were socks... Then I pulled an incredibly long sock from some drawer. It was lace trimmed and made of black silk...

“Holy Maker!” I gasped, rummaging around for something actually wearable. What had happened to the good old woolen sock? The whole damn drawer was filled with equally useless frills and furbelows! Sighing, I slumped down to resign to my fate and, tip of my tongue sticking out the corner of my mouth in high concentration, tried to put on the blasted sock without ripping it apart. I had just squeezed my toes into the first one when Rori slumped down next to me, watching my progress with high interest.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, thoughtfully tapping her index finger against her lips.

Grunting and cursing, I managed to pull the damn thing over my heel.

“Alistair?” she asked softly after she had witnessed some more struggling and cursing on my side.

“Hmph! What? That blasted...!” The sock was too tight!

“You do realize you’re putting on my stocking, right?”

Huh!?

Doom!

DOOM!

Blinking stupidly at my silk covered foot, I began to reconsider the usefulness of a butler. I hadn’t even noticed Rori’s clothes were in this closet, too! Now, regarding the left side of the room, there were indeed a whole lot of outfits that could only be identified as dresses.

“Blast!” I groaned.

Rori had the decency to at least attempt to stifle her laugh. She stuffed her fist into her mouth until she could hardly breathe anymore from the effort of holding back. In the end she failed dramatically and her giggle fit was only interrupted by her hiccups.

“Stop drawing attention!” I hissed, frantically pulling at the stocking to get rid of it before Eamon or Arlington noticed my misfortune. Rori was laughing so hard tears welled up in her eyes. At least she had mercy and set me free, wiping her eyes with the blasted stocking.

“What in the name of the Maker are you doing?” Eamon asked sharply.

“Just trying to become a real silk-stocking,” I muttered, a foolish grin plastered across my face. That had Rori rolling around on the floor in hysterics. Once she could breathe again, she diverted the stocking to blow her nose. Eamon shook his head before returning his attention to the difficult task of finding me a fool’s ensemble.

With Rori’s assistance, I found woolen socks as red as my face, hurriedly chose a pair of grey jack-boots just because they were standing right in front of my feet.

“So?” I asked my beloved fellow royal to-be.

“Cute!” Rori squealed girlishly, clapping her hands as she bounced up and down.

I swear, she did that on purpose!

“You only want me to spank you tonight,” I grunted huffily.

Rori grinned and smacked my hindquarters. “You’re soooooooooo manly! And sexy! RAWR!” She pawed at me.

“Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it!” I, of course, totally failed at sounding menacing. It’s just absolutely impossible to act sinister when at the very same time you grin from ear to ear with blatant anticipation. I pulled at my cuffs, opened the first two buttons of my shirt because it was feeling too tight at my throat. When I turned to check my reflection I found my advisors staring at me across the mirror.

“Gorgeous!” Leliana squealed, clapping her hands. “That’s exactly your style! Practical! Manly! A bit roguish and elegant in one! It’s pure understatement. It’s smart casual. Forget about frilled shirts, knickerbockers, velvet and satin—this man is not made for Orlesian fashion! He's 100 percent Fereldan. Congratulations, Alistair! You've found yourself a coronation outfit!”

“Indeed,” Eamon conceded defeat.

What?! For real?

“Just don't spill sauce down your shirt,” the Arl added as if talking to a child.

“Duh! Does that mean I have to undress and find something else for now?” I groaned.

“Oh, no worries,” Leliana purred. “I’m sure, Rori will give you a hand. Or two.”

“That, Lady Leliana, is my duty,” Arlington remarked sourly.

“Believe me when I say this is most certainly not part of your job description,” I deadpanned.


	9. The Crux of the Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another great editing work by Ashley Reid.

The day of my coronation I was having breakfast with a painfully awake and seriously annoyed Eamon, a slightly disgruntled Teagan, and Rori. The archdemon itself would not have made for worse breakfast company.

Eamon was mad at me for having fired Arlington on Rori’s advice. I wasn’t especially fond of Arlington, but still I didn’t want him to lose his job. Perhaps he had family. Unfortunately, Rori was right when she said that a butler had to be 100 percent loyal. Arlington, however, was Eamon’s man. I couldn’t keep him. Needless to say, Eamon was less than delighted, and had sent Teagan to bring me back to reason. To his utter dismay, Teagan jumped ship and Eamon had a row with his brother. That’s what had caused their now utter lack of cheerfulness.

Rori... actually, she had nothing to complain about. We had spent a whole lot of time in the walk-in closet, and especially in front of that mirror. And then we had moved to the bed for some more exertions... Admittedly, it had been a rather long night. Bleary-eyed, she now clung to her mug of coffee as if her life depended on it and gloomily stared across the rim of the mug whenever anybody dared to address her. Her answers came in the form of incomprehensible grunts of malcontent.

Since I’m smarter than I look—no, really!—I kept my mouth shut and just sat there with my elbow propped on the table and my head resting on my hand. Otherwise I would have slammed face forward into my bowl of porridge. As I said, it had been a long night...

“After breakfast it is time for matins,” Eamon read off an alarmingly long list. “After that his Highness will stay in the chapel for meditation...”

Awesome! And there I was thinking there wouldn’t be time for a nap today.

“Afterwards...”

I didn’t really listen anymore from that point on because Rori had finished her second cup of coffee. That always worked like magic on her. From that point on approaching her was no longer a suicide mission. She now clamped a slice of fried bacon between her upper lip and nose, a makeshift moustache, and with her napkin in hand instead of a piece of paper imitated Eamon’s rather dull performance. She even wagged her finger at me like the Arl. Eamon, though sitting right next to her, somehow didn't notice. He was too busy concentrating on controlling everything, most of all the future king.

I tried not to look her way. I tried to stay earnest. I even catapulted porridge at her with my spoon to make her behave. My first spoonful sailed over her head. The second slapped onto the table left of her hand. I reloaded, aimed carefully, and... with a loud SMACK the porridge hit Arl Eamon Guerrin right in the face.

Doom!

DOOM!

There was a dead and ominous silence when Eamon slowly laid his list on the table, reached for his napkin, and carefully wiped his face clean. Then he glared at me from across the table. Sitting there, spoon still in hand, I couldn’t even say it hadn’t been me. So, I just grinned foolishly and shrugged. Then Rori fell off her chair, rolling around on the floor in hysterics, which didn’t make the situation any better. Teagan next to me stuffed his napkin into his mouth to stifle his laugh. His eyes were already bulging out of their sockets when he slipped under the table. The moment he was out of sight howling laughter filled the room.

I was the only one left and Eamon’s accusing stare bore into me like a knife.

“There’s... there’s porridge stuck in your eyebrows, my lord,” I croaked out, wiggling around on my chair uncomfortably.

Eamon didn’t say a word. He reached for his napkin again, wiped his eyebrows, and never stopped glowering at me. I wished he would shout and get mad but all he did was look at me, annoyed and—worse—disappointed.

Without my guilty grin fading I slowly sank back in my chair until I slipped under the table as well. Teagan gnawed at his napkin, his eyes bleary with tears. Rori hiccupped in between uncontrollable giggle fits. I lasted about ten seconds, then I joined in. I felt awfully guilty but with Teagan and Rori in hysterics, but I just couldn’t hold back.

Arl Eamon sighed. Then he returned to his breakfast.

I had opted to play “rock, paper, scissors” with Rori and Teagan as none of us wanted to be the first one to reappear from under the table, when my new butler entered. Well, actually he stood in the doorway and shuffled his feet. I recognized his footwear and as the poor lad clearly felt as out of place as I did, I felt obliged to help him.

“Soris!” I exclaimed, emerging from under the table.

“Y-your Highness,” the elf replied. He probably still wondered how in the name of the Maker he had ended up as the king’s butler. He was obviously uncomfortable in his fine clothes. Still, he was the perfect butler for me—at least that’s what Shianni and Rori wanted me to believe. We were both equally clueless when it came to our job requirements. And we both knew extremely stubborn women. “There... this...” He shrugged helplessly, all dressed up and nowhere to go. In his arms he held a wooden box with holes at the side. “You received a gift... prince... Ser...” Uneasily he placed the present on the table and opened the lid.

“Awww! A puppy!” I exclaimed, lifting the little furball out of the box. He wagged his tiny tail, whined happily, and licked my face when I cuddled him. “He likes me!” I beamed at the little dog. “Good boy!”

“How dare they!” Eamon droned, snatching the puppy away from me.

“Hey!”

Eamon ignored my protest and shoved the dog back into the box, handing it to Soris. “Drown it!”

“WHAT!?” I cried. “No! This is my dog!”

“This beast is unworthy! Not fit for a king.”

“Why not?” I did not understand what was wrong with the cuddly floppy eared puppy. He had the strong build of a mabari, with a longer snout and tail. I turned to Rori and found her sitting on her chair, staring at the puppy slack-jawed and obviously shocked. Teagan was kneading his napkin nervously. Only Alistair the Clueless had no idea what was wrong.

“It’s an insult!” Eamon bellowed, his face bright red with anger. “Who sent this?”

“WHOA! Wait! Stop it! Now! Can anybody explain to me what’s going on?” It was only a dog, a little innocent puppy. Really nothing to get upset about, right? Right?

Rori put her hand on my arm comfortingly. “He is a mutt, Alistair. A half-breed...” And when I still didn't get it, she added: “Just like you.”

I stared at her uncomprehendingly. “So what?”

“A pedigree mabari is a dog worth a king,” Teagan explained. “This pup, he’s underbred. Dogs like him, we usually drown them. They are worth nothing.”

“Well, you won’t drown Barkspawn!” I snorted, snatching the puppy from poor Soris before Eamon could.

“Barkspawn,” Rori giggled. “Cute!”

“Dangerous,” I corrected her indignantly. “Menacing, mysterious. Come on, Barkspawn, show her!” The puppy woofed happily and wagged his tail when Rori scratched him behind the ears.

“Cute,” she grinned.

“Barkspawn, you and I will have to have a talk later, man to man,” I muttered.

“You cannot keep him!” Eamon insisted, horrified by the mere thought.

“Why not?” I pressed the puppy against my chest. Absolutely nothing they could possibly say or do would make me give up my puppy!

“It’s like holding up a sign that says, ‘Look at me, I am the bastard king.’” Teagan said, angrily throwing his napkin onto the table. “Whoever sent this... gift... is making fun of you, Alistair!”

“I will keep him,” I retorted. It’s not that I didn’t get the message. A worthless mongrel, that’s what I was to many nobles. They didn’t believe I could rule this nation as their king. In their eyes, it was the Guerrins and the Couslands pulling the strings. I suppose they could have accepted a puppet king if only he had been of pure noble birth.

“Alistair! Be reasonable!” Eamon groaned.

“Barkspawn shall be trained with the pure bred mabari,” I decided, completely ignoring the Arl. Eamon wheezed as if he was about to have a heart attack. “The bastard king and his mongrel. What you see is what you get, right?” I smiled sadly at the puppy in my arms.

“Your Highness, as your advisor I have to interpose my veto,” Eamon croaked.

“Alistair’s right,” Rori came to my aid. The way Eamon glared at her he would have gladly drowned her along with the dog. “He cannot change who he is. To act as if he was somebody else will mark him a target. He can disarm his foes by openly adhering to his heritage.” She grinned impishly. “It’s a bit like flipping these sod-eating rodents the bird.”

“Or they will believe Alistair is too dumb to see the meaning behind this... gift,” Teagan pointed out.

“Now, wouldn’t that be awesome for my reputation?” I deadpanned. “We wouldn’t want anybody to feel forced to abandon their prejudices.”

“What if the dog fails the training?” Eamon grunted. “It will discredit Alistair.”

“What you actually want to say is: What if the king fails following in his father’s footsteps?” Rori retorted. “You wouldn’t even dare to wonder if he wasn’t a bastard but Maric’s legitimate child.”

Eamon once more had to accept a defeat. He rubbed his temples tiredly. Whenever he had a disagreement with me he looked ten years older afterwards. I almost felt sorry for him. He was trying to do his best for Ferelden. I wasn’t altogether sure if this also was the best for me. “The mutt at least should have an impressive name.”

“Barkspawn already has a name,” I pointed out.

“Your Highness...” Eamon began.

“Barkspawn really is a stupid name,” Rori cut the Arl short, her voice as sweet as honey. “I think you should call him Eamon. I mean, you owe the Arl so much, to honor him by naming your dog after him is really the least you could do.” Smiling a wide fake smile she turned to the Arl. “What do you think?”

“Barkspawn is fine,” Eamon pressed through gritted teeth. Behind his back I gave Rori a high-five.

“Instead of wasting time arguing about the dog’s name, we should try to find out who sent him,” Teagan reasoned. “It seems like a nasty joke, but I bet there’s much more to it. Soris, what can you tell us?”

“I don't know anything, Lord Teagan,” Soris hurried to say. “They say the parcel stood in front of the servants” entrance with a note attached.”

“What did the note say?” Rori asked when Soris fell silent.

He squirmed and beat around the bush for some time, obviously unwilling to tell, before he blurted out: “‘For the usurper of the throne.’ That’s what it said.”

“Blast!” Rori and I said in unison. None of us had ever believed it would be easy. However, I had not expected anybody to attack me like that a few weeks after the blasted Blight had ended and before my coronation.

“This is alarming, yet nothing you should waste time on now, Alistair,” Eamon reminded me of my tight schedule. “You have to prepare for your coronation. It would be unwise to keep the Grand Cleric waiting. We wouldn’t want to antagonize the Chantry.”

“I know her alright,” I sighed.

“Please try not to fall asleep during matins!” Eamon went on lecturing me. “Drawing eyes onto your eyelids didn’t work ten years ago, and it won’t work now,” he added when all I offered in reply was a sheepish grin.

Blast! The man just knew me too well!

“While you have your date with the Grand Cleric, I’ll talk to Zevran,” Rori said when we left the room together with Barkspawn at our heels.

“Maker! You don’t want to... err... have him use his... special skills!?” I squeaked.

“Of course not!”

“Whew!”

“First I have to find out who the target is...”

“RORI!”

“Don’t worry, Alistair.” Rori tiptoed to give me a peck to the cheek and a quick hug. “You meet the Grand Cleric, I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll be back in time for your coronation.”

If that was meant for comfort, it didn’t work. I watched her walk away with Barkspawn in tow, feeling rather uneasy about what she and Zevran could possibly do. My imagination ran wild and still I probably couldn’t think of half the things those two were capable of. In addition, that meant I had to endure matins all alone; no one there to at least play ‘I spy’ with me.

Pouting, I moved on and ran straight into Sten, backpack and sword included.

“It is time for me to leave,” he greeted me in his monotonous voice. “The Arishok has been waiting for an answer for too long.”

“But today is my coronation!” I protested. “You are the only Qunari here. Shouldn’t you stay to represent your people? Marking the beginning of diplomatic relations and all that?”

By the grumpy, gloomy, stern, and altogether unpleasant expression Sten displayed, diplomacy was something for wimps.

When diplomacy doesn’t work, try corruption. And Zevran, Leliana, and Rori thought I never paid attention. Bah!

I carefully looked over my shoulder as if to check on any possible eavesdroppers. Having made sure that nobody could hear us, I beckoned Sten to come closer. I still had to tiptoe to whisper into his ear: “There will be cake.”

“Cake?” the Qunari grunted, a greedy gleam sparkling in his eyes.

I nodded. “The tables will sag under the abundance of different cakes.”

“Hmph.” Despite his inner struggle, his expression stayed dispassionate. “The Arishok should hear a report about the consequences of the Blight, too,” Sten said slowly after some time.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “As much as I would love to discuss political matters and other important things with you, I have to attend matins,” I added, feigning to be in a hurry. “You see, unfortunately there’s a rule that only those who attend matins can have cake. It’s a religious thing...”

While I dragged Sten to matins—Maker forgive me!—Rori kicked Zevran out of bed.

Literally.

She burst through the door after a sharp and rather short knock and found the Antivan in close proximity to...

“Shianni!? What are you... OH! Maker’s Breath! That is... err... uhm...” Rori turned a brighter shade of pink.

“Maker! Look at her!” Shianni laughed. “All flustered and blushing.”

Zevran sighed, fending off the exuberant puppy that had entered with his partner in crime. “I take it you have not come to join in or watch?”

“NO!” Rori squeaked.

“Ever since I met you, my sex life has ground to a halt,” Zevran observed, rolling out of bed resignedly. Rori gasped and tried to look elsewhere. The room was adorned with an incredibly interesting and colorful carpet. While she was shifting her weight uncomfortably, Zevran noisily bid Shianni farewell. Rori quickly clapped her hands over her ears. “You Fereldans are so finicky,” she heard Zevran remark nonetheless. “Goodbye for now, Shianni mi corazón. Duty calls!”

His pants still open, shirt in hands, he followed Rori leading the way towards the park. There, Barkspawn and Barkley rolled about on the meadow with Amethyne while Rori and Zevran sat in the shade of a tree, far away from any eavesdroppers, and talked business. Rori would rather have played with the dogs, Zevran would rather have been in bed with Shianni—alas, you can’t always get what you want. I was stuck in matins. I know what I’m talking about.

“As much as I adore you, my lovely Fereldan rose, I do hope you have a good reason for disturbing me,” the elf complained. “I’ve never been much of an admirer of coitus interruptus.”

Wondering what in the name of the Maker “coitus interruptus” was—but by now wise enough not to ask—Rori introduced Barkspawn and his explosive nature. “I’m afraid Alistair’s foes don’t waste any time. We need more information and quickly. There is something brewing.” Rori plucked a blade of grass and ripped it to pieces, plucking the next one as soon as she was done.

“The servants always are the first to ask,” the assassin suggested.

“We don’t know anything about their allegiance. Many of them already worked for Anora. And they certainly won’t talk as openly to me as to each other,” Rori sighed. “We’ve only just ended a Blight! Alistair is not yet crowned and they already begin to undermine his position.”

“That doesn’t surprise you, does it, my lovely Fereldan rose?” Zevran chuckled. “And there are servants loyal to Alistair. Let’s just start with asking them, shall we? Amy!” he called, beckoning the girl to join them. Her cheeks blushed, eyes shining and a happy smile adorning her face, Amethyne for once looked like the seven years she was. She slumped down next to Rori and immediately began rummaging through the basket she had brought along when her mistress had told her they were going to spend some time in the park. Within a heartbeat the dogs joined her, greedily begging for food.

“You shall not teach Barkspawn bad manners, Barkley!” Rori scolded when her mabari nudged Amethyne with his huge head and the puppy joined in. “Begging is beneath a mabari!” Barkley woofed in disapproval but behaved—until Amy took her eyes off him for a split-second. That’s when he, as quick as a wink, snatched her sandwich from her hands. The girl could call herself lucky he didn’t bite any fingers off, that greedy cur!

“Barkley! Sit!” Rori ordered sternly. Barkley did sit. In her lap. “Maker! You’re not a tiny puppy anymore!” His mistress gasped as she was thrown back into the grass by the huge dog. “Get off me! Now!”

“Alas, Amy, my little snowdrop, what do the servants know about the mongrel,” Zevran inquired while Rori fought with her dog and the girl fed Barkspawn with roast beef.

“Caused quite an uproar in the kitchen after a cookmaid discovered the box in the morning,” Amy said. “At least until Nan appeared. Nobody dares to talk bad about my lady or his Highness around her.”

“No surprise there. She’d beat the shit out of them with her rolling pin,” Rori remarked with grim satisfaction.

“Nan had Soris get the dog out of her kitchen and sent everybody else back to work. There was a lot of gossiping afterwards when Nan wasn’t around. None of them really knew anything about the dog, but there’s two fractions amongst the servants. Those who still pledge allegiance to Anora and those who side with the new king,” Amethyne reported.

“You need to get rid of them,” Zevran said. “And our royal friend should hire a food taster.”

“You have to be kidding! Alistair would never ever force someone to try his food for poison and risk their lives to protect his.”

“Then you better choose your kitchen staff carefully,” Zevran dead-panned. “Amy, my lovely snowdrop, we need names.”

“You cannot use Amy as a spy!” Rori protested. “It’s too dangerous! She’s only a kid!”

“Why not? She’s perfect. Nobody will pay much attention to a little elven girl. You should train her. She has sass, wits, and courage.” Amy straightened proudly and beamed at the elf’s praise. She also blushed deep crimson. She wasn’t much used to anybody telling her she was worth more than street filth. “As I see it, she has splendid carreer prospects.” the elf went on. “It would be a waste to keep her as a handmaid.”

“Oh please, milady!” Amy clapped her hands giddily, bouncing up and down.

“Oh, alright!” Rori gave in. “Lessons with Zev, Leliana, and myself for you.”

Squeaking girlishly, Amy flung herself first at Rori and then at the Antivan to hug them tight.

“Alas, Amy cannot be everywhere,” Zevran chortled, hugging the child in return. “You need a fly on the wall in every noble estate in this country.”

“Papa had his snitches,” Rori said thoughtfully. “But things changed during the Blight. Nothing is like it was before. After what happened in Highever, I don’t know who to trust.”

“Then you have to build your own intelligence.”

“You’re right,” Rori sighed. “Alistair won’t like this, though.”

“Ah, my lovely Fereldan rose, I do know you can be very convincing,” Zevran chuckled.

“Indeed,” Rori grinned, then added with mischief sparkling in her eyes, “As for the flies, I already know where to start.”

A short time later, two hooded figures left the palace and easily merged with the crowd. Really, Rori got to have all the fun while I was stuck in matins with Sten. He made quite an impression on the Grand Cleric. She waited for me at the entrance of the chapel. Eamon and Teagan and all the other very important people were already there, of course. They all watched me as I walked through the aisle that suddenly had turned into a gauntlet. By the sour look on Elemena’s face, she was already preparing to lecture me for being late—again—when her eyes fixed on the giant behind me.

“You do not intend to bring this... sword... into my chapel?” Elemena said strictly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Sten furrowed his brow and glowered so icily at the Grand Cleric that she took a step backwards.

Mwhahaha!

Vengeance is mine; I will repay, sayeth the Maker.

I cleared my throat and whispered into the quiet: “The last time he had to part from his sword, he murdered eight people with his bare hands.”

Suddenly, the Grand Cleric had absolutely no problem anymore with Sten or Sten’s sword. Or with my lateness. Or with me in general. I somewhat doubt she noticed I was actually there as she kept eyeing Sten all through her sermon, and whenever he as much as blinked, she dove behind the altar for cover. In addition, someone had told Oghren that they served wine during matins. That someone had forgotten to mention that it was only a tiny sip at the end of the service... Haha!

Sitting in the first row, I was flanked by the Qunari and the dwarf. Matins had never been so spectacular! I sighed contently, made myself as comfortable on the rather uncomfortable bench as possible—Sten growled menacingly when I tried to rest my head against his shoulder, making the Grand Cleric run for cover yet again—and closed my eyes. With Oghren already snoring loudly, who would pay attention to me? Ahhhh! Nap time!

What? Mean? Who? Me?

You have absolutely no idea how this woman reacted when Duncan chose me for the Grey Wardens. The row she and Duncan had back then was truly epic. The things she said about me were far from flattering. She would have made Morrigan go green with envy.

In the meantime, Zevran and Rori arrived at the harbor with its narrow alleys and dark drinking holes. The darkspawn had destroyed most of my capital, but that part had miraculously escaped the destruction. It only had become darker and filthier.

Their destination was a tavern called The Knife Ear. Above the entrance, someone had nailed the skull of an unfortunate and long-dead elf to the wall; two rusty daggers at each side of the skull marked the ears.

Charming indeed.

Well-trodden stairs led down into a dark and moist cellar. The taproom was almost empty that early in the morning. Still, the man Rori sought was present, leaning against the bar as he chatted with the innkeeper. He was a tall, young, and rather chubby fellow with copper hair. By his looks, nobody would have guessed he was half-blooded and had grown up in the alienage.

“Slim Couldry!” she greeted the man when he turned at their entry.

“Oh no! What are you doing here!?” the man groaned, hurriedly grabbing her arm and shoving her into the darkest corner of the tavern. Despite her hood, he knew exactly who she was. It wasn’t the first time they had met. “Are you mad coming here!?” he hissed as he pushed Rori to sit on a stool. He chose the bench at the other side of the table, his back safely pressed against the wall. The second hooded figure gracefully sat down on another stool, nonchalantly leaning his back against the table so he could watch the room. He pulled a nasty looking dagger from his boot and began to thoroughly clean his fingernails.

“And you've brought the Antivan! Just great!” Slim Couldry groaned. “What is this about? You want to kill me?”

“Really, Slim, you’d already be dead if I had such things in mind,” Rori said sullenly.

“Oh whew! I feel so much better now!” the man exclaimed.

"I have a business proposition for you,” Rori sighed, tired of Slim Couldry's hostility.

“We don’t have any business, Dark Wolf!”

“As far as I recall, I got that name because of the business we had,” Rori pointed out.

“That was before your paramour became king and you his queen,” Slim Couldry hissed in a voice so low it was hardly audible. Sweat formed on his brow as he nervously looked around the room. “I wish I never met you! Now would you please leave me alone?! I’m ruined if anybody ever sees us together! Slim Couldry working for the officials! I’ve got a reputation to maintain! I don’t want anything to do with you anymore! Go away!”

Rori stayed where she was. “Alistair is a good man with a heart of gold. A brave man. He’ll make a just king...”

“You’re saying he’s a naive fool and his assassination is only a matter of time,” Slim Couldry snorted.

“All the information I got from you, regarding certain... targets, you have insiders within the noble households. Servants, elves, and half-bloods like you,” Rori went on, unperturbed by Slim Couldry’s unwillingness.

“You want to use them as spies?” he snorted. “Never! You’re the establishment now, remember?”

“Alistair is far from being the establishment. He’s going to change things...”

“... if he stays alive that long.”

“Exactly. I want you to think about it. A new branch of business. You’ve got the information. I’ve got the coins.”

“And what will you do with the information, should I be willing to sell it? You could come across some real nasty things. Your king doesn’t sound as if he could make the decisions he might be forced to make.”

“Oh, don’t you worry; that’s what I’m here for,” Rori said sweetly.

“Growing up in the Alienage, you want to believe in something. Something that explains the suffering. I have faith, but not everyone does. I am a good Andrastian, you know?” Slim Couldry reminded her.

“I do. And you should know by now I do not walk around and just kill people for fun,” Rori cut him short. “Come on, Slim! You’re the take-from-the-rich-give-it-to-the-poor type of guy. Didn’t you tell me you fight the bastards that oppress your people with the skills the Maker gave you? This is your chance to actually make a difference.” She was aware that Slim Couldry, as useful as he could prove to be, could also become dangerous in case I didn’t meet his expectations. He for sure was not the only one she planned to rely on. For now, however, he was her only option. She couldn’t pull spies out of a hat.

“Ha! You do remember? You’re probably the first noble who has ever listened to me.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“If I say no, you could just have me arrested and tortured,” the thief said gloomily.

Rori snorted, arching an eyebrow. “Really?”

“No,” Slim Couldry sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “No, you wouldn’t do that, right? For the information I give you, I want more than just your coin. I want you to promise you’ll help my people.”

“I swear I’ll do whatever is in my power. But you need to realize there won’t be a huge change, no revolution. It will be tiny steps; changes you might not even notice at once.”

“Now you do talk like a noble woman.”

“I talk like a realist. You’d rather have me lie to you?”

He regarded Rori’s outstretched hand as if it was something slimy. Then, with a heavy sigh, he accepted. “Deal!”

“Thank you, Slim.”

“Don’t you make me regret this, Dark Wolf!”

“I won’t.”

“Your word to the Maker’s ear!”


	10. I, I Will Be King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awesome Ashley Reid did her best editing this chapter.

“In the Maker’s eyes, all men are equal, be it king or beggar,” the Grand Cleric intoned, spreading her arms as if to embrace her whole audience. Very unlikely since I was the only listener left in the chapel. It was time for meditation. It hadn't yet begun and I could hardly stifle a yawn. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t roll them and hung my head, every inch the penitent sinner. I was freezing in my hairshirt, my bare feet cold against the stone floor. “Kneel down and show reverence to the Maker. May He guide you in His wisdom so you shall be clothed in humility.”

“Clothed in humility would at least be something,” I muttered under my breath, tugging at the hem of the shirt. I felt naked and foolish.

“Silence!” the Grand Cleric thundered. Thus said, she didn’t light the blasted candle and left like she should have. Instead, she kept watching me with her lips pressed to a thin line and her expression close to hostile.

I sighed resignedly. “Come on, get it over with! The Maker moves in mysterious ways, Ferelden is doomed, a crown doesn’t make a king, and so forth.”

“Indeed it doesn’t,” Elemena agreed coolly. “In case your performance as a templar recruit forshadows your success as future king of this nation, Ferelden is facing hard times.”

So much for winning the favor of the Chantry.

“This nation needs the Chantry more than ever before. We who act in the name of the Maker are the pillars of this country; without us, there would be chaos and doom. But as the people of Ferelden walk through the shadows of the valley of death, there is a light to guide them. The faithful will not fall...”

Merciful Andraste! Spit it out already!

The ground was cold and hard, my knees already hurt, and I had to pee. I wiggled around uncomfortably while the Grand Cleric went on and on about how much the country and I owed the Chantry... With all the willpower I could muster I forced myself to stay awake. It was also a test of will to keep myself from making faces at my reflection in the huge shiny silver vases on either side of the altar...

There I was feeling like a ten-year-old again, stuck somewhere in between guilt and defiance, wavering in between obedience and disrespect, overwhelmed by lofty expectations and paralyzed with the fear that I would never meet them.

Some things never change.

“... Next to rebuilding this city and ensuring the safety of your people, your... advancement has caused a power vacuum.”

Pause.

I blinked. Huh? What? Oh, she was about to stop beating around the bush, wasn’t she? I feigned interest as best I could, a skill I had honed to perfection during my time at the monastery...

“Stop grinning like a fool and listen!” Elemena snapped.

Okay, maybe not exactly to perfection.

“The Arling of Amaranthine, at this very moment, is leaderless,” the Grand Cleric accentuated.

Pause.

“You will have to name a new leader.”

Pause.

“I pray to the Maker to give you the wisdom to do what is right,” Elemena said menacingly, staring at me intensely. “For your own and your kingdom’s sake.”

“May the Maker guide me,” I agreed, presenting my best goofy grin.

I’m not an idiot. Not all of the time. People like to believe I am and I like to keep it that way. Even after so many years they act surprised when I don’t meet their expectations—either way. Sometimes, they come to find out I am smarter than I look; other times, they despair as I prove to be dumber than even they thought possible.

The Grand Cleric was about to get surprised by how stupid the new monarch actually was.

“Empty your mind,” she went on once she was done trying to manipulate the fool in front of her.

“But...” I really had to pee. Once the candle was lit I would have to sit in front of it in silent contemplation and devoted prayer until the candle burnt down.

The Grand Cleric silenced me with a glare. “Silence!” she snapped. “Ten years and you still have not learnt to be quiet!”

Duh. Guilty as charged. “But...” I wiggled around some more while I tried to figure out how to inform the Grand Cleric I had to answer an urgent call of nature.

“... and in quiet solitude you shall see the path the Maker has prepared for you,” the Grand Cleric cut me short. “May your faith guide you.” She lit the damn candle and left me kneeling there.

Marvelous!

I’d rather have emptied my bladder instead of my mind. Try to contemplate when all you can focus on is not wetting yourself. I gritted my teeth, sweat formed on my brow. I stared at the candle and tried to will it to burn down faster. For a moment I considered some target practice, but that would have meant explaining the mess to the Grand Cleric afterwards...

I needed something less obvious, something in reach, something...

Cursing under my breath, I accepted my failure in the Maker’s eyes—once again—and arose with stiff legs and hobbled toward one of the silver vases.

Ahhh! Relief!

It for sure was an unforgivable sin to pee into the Maker’s floral arrangements. Rori was sure the Maker didn’t give a damn what we did by now. Can’t say I was completely convinced, so I ducked my head, half expecting to get struck by lightning in the form of the Grand Cleric’s wrath and apologized just in case. When nothing happened, I returned to sit in front of my candle for some thorough contemplation. Perhaps the Maker was pissed off—or would it be pissed on, in this instance?—since I didn’t feel any wiser or calmer. Thinking about my duties as king, I felt close to panic. I couldn’t imagine this would now be my life until my dying day. If Rori didn’t find a cure, that day would come within the next ten years...

Blast! Nobody could really expect me to sit around and stare at a candle and waste hours of my precious time panicking!

As I was already doomed to eternal perdition, I swapped my newly lit candle for a similar but much smaller one from one of the candlesticks at both sides of the altar. It was a trick I had often used back at the monastery. I’ve sat in front of as many candles to think about my behavior as I’ve scrubbed dirty pots. I liked the pots better, especially when they left me alone in the kitchen—which they never did again after I had built a drumset out of pots, hitting them with wooden spoons and banging the lids. Shortly after I had started my concert, ten templars in heavy armor burst through the door, alarmed by the infernal noise and expecting an encounter with at least one abomination or demon. Their expressions when they found the hellish noise was caused by a bored teenage boy... Priceless!

Ten minutes later I snuck out of the chapel. Alright, I tried to sneak out of the chapel. That was the part of my clever plan that had never worked. Thus, I shouldn’t have been surprised to find the Grand Cleric standing right outside the chapel, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her expression merciless. Blast it! She knew me too well.

“Umm... hi!” I grinned sheepishly and waved like a fool.

Without saying a word, her arm outstretched and finger extended, the Grand Cleric pointed at the chapel I had just left.

Doom!

DOOM!

Chilled to the bone, legs stiff and not an ounce wiser, I arrived at my suite of rooms shortly after midday and just in time to hear Amy say: “Bann Esmerelle had tea with Lady Isolde today.” The little girl danced around a dummy in the middle of the room, trying to snatch little trinkets from its various pockets without making the bells ring. Meanwhile, Rori and Zevran, looking very pleased with themselves, slumped on the sofa, both feet on the table in front of them, loaded with the leftovers of their lunch. Maker! I was starving!

“Birds of a feather flock together,” Rori said. “What did she want?”

“She showed much interest in whom Alistair is going to declare Arl of Amaranthine,” Amy went on. “Blast!” she hissed when a tiny bell rung when she tried to cut the purse from the doll’s belt.

“With a twist of your wrist; no big movements,” Zevran advised.

“And she didn’t miss pointing out she felt overlooked when Denerim wasn’t given to her,” Amy reported as she tried to do as the assassin had told her. “Isolde promised to talk to Eamon about it.”

“Ow do y’no suff fings?” I asked, wolfing down the remains of Rori’s stew before she could. Bowl in hand, I squeezed myself in between Rori and Zev, reaching for the bread before my hindquarters even touched the sofa.

“Nice outfit,” the elf smirked. “Sexy!” He teasingly pulled at the hem of my hairshirt until I slapped his hand away.

“Cute,” Rori giggled, patting my knee. I shot her a scathing look and was rewarded with the sweetest smile. “How was matins?” I made a sour face. “That great, eh?” Rori laughed, nuzzling the side of my neck.

“Valena told Soris,” Amy explained.

I turned to the elf standing behind the sofa like a statue with a tray in his hands, loaded with tea and biscuits. A wide and stupid grin was plastered across his face.

“Valena,” my newly minted butler sighed dreamily, unaware of me relieving him of the tray. Oh boy! It was Nan's butter biscuits! “Valena!”

“He's been like this ever since she talked to him.” Amethyne shook her head in disapproval and incomprehension.

“Problem?” Zevran whispered, quirking an eyebrow.

“Don’t think so,” Rori said, munching biscuits thoughtfully. “After what happened at Redcliffe, Valena’s loyality does not lie with her mistress.”

“No creepy assassin talk at lunch!” I wagged my finger at the rogues. “As for Amaranthine, the Grand Cleric already tried to make me hand it over to the Chantry,” I groaned. “Why’s everybody and their mother after Amaranthine?”

“Because it’s one of the richest Arlings in Ferelden, and nobody dares to reach for Gwaren as long as Anora is alive and still kicking,” Rori pointed out. “They’ve got something planned. We don't know what it is yet, but Anora for sure is part of it, knowingly or not.”

“You will have to deal with the queen dowager soon,” Zevran mused. “Accidents happen. People slip and break their necks every day...”

“No assassin talk at lunch!” I repeated, glaring icily at Zevran—and at Rori. She was capable of so many things I would never have even dared to think of. I had to draw a line and make sure she wouldn’t cross it, knowing I would lose her if she did.

I would have rather dealt with all the Esmerelles of Thedas and the Maker Himself than with Anora and her fate. She was a threat and killing her would certainly have been a final solution. But I didn’t want to be that kind of king...

“Amaranthine’s part of Fergus’ teyrnir. You could always leave it to him,” Rori said rather unperturbed. “Whatever he decides, you can say it wasn’t you.”

“Sounds like a decent plan,” I cheered, glad it wasn’t my problem anymore. “That’s just the way I like it.”

My afternoon coronation took place in the throne room, simply because the darkspawn had burned the Chantry to a cinder. The Grand Cleric wasn’t amused. She acted as if I was personally responsible for the destruction of her Denerim Chantry and complained endlessly about how the king should come to the Chantry and not the other way round.

Standing outside the huge doors, I nervously pulled at the cuffs of my coat. If Rori had suddenly appeared to tell me this wasn’t real, that we were again stuck in the Fade, she wouldn’t have had such a hard time convincing me like she had back at Kinloch Hold. The first time I had entered the throne room I had felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. It had been a showdown and after I had spent so much time working towards it, it had still been surreal. This time wasn’t any better.

“I am having déjà vu,” I mumbled upon entering the vestibule.

“Alistair, if you were even remotely worthy of being King Maric’s son, you would already be in there for your coronation, now wouldn’t you?” Ser Cauthrien greeted me, unable to hide her grin. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared when she realized what she had done. “Forgive me, your Highness.” She bowed lowly, her face all flushed.

“Whoa! No, don’t be sorry! That was a joke! Haha! Awesome. Thank you for cheering me up. The Maker knows I need a good laugh right now.”

“Your desire is my command,” a voice behind me said and the next thing I knew I was pounced and smooched by my ginger. She was breathtakingly beautiful in her mossy green dress embroidered with dark green ivy vines. Her sparkling eyes and prettily flushed cheeks, her fiery curls framing her pale face adorned by a myriad of freckles... and this brilliant smile that was meant only for me... Before she had tackled me I had felt like a dead man walking. She was as nervous as I, overwrought and jittery. Still, with her in my arms, I knew everything would be alright. Somehow. Some way. We were determined to make the best of anything life still had in store for us. “Bloody blast it,” right?

“Wow!” I breathed when she finally broke the kiss. “I was expecting something like ‘A Grey Warden, a Templar, and a mage enter a tavern...’”

“You want me to crack a joke?” She tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully. “Okay, here we go. Oghren comes out of the bar. He’s drunk as a skunk...” Rori already started giggling. “Drunk as a skunk, haha. Stinking drunk, get it? Hehehehehe...”

“Of course,” I chortled.

“Outside he meets Zevran, also whistled drunk...” she went on, bubbling over with laughter. By then she had me laughing, too, not because her joke was so witty. It was her adorably cute inability to crack a joke without completely messing it up.

“Oghren looks up in the sky and says, ‘Is that the sun or the moon?’” Rori hiccupped.

“Are you ready, your Highness?” Eamon asked sourly. He awaited me at the second set of doors. I was late for my own coronation, of course. It wasn't my fault, though. Barkspawn had run away with one of my boots and when Rori, Amy, Soris, and I finally had retrieved it, we found Barkley had stolen the second one.

“Wait, wait, there’s still the punchline!” Rori by then laughed so hard she had to cling to my coat to keep standing. “Zev answers,” she gasped. “He answers... hehehe... ‘I don't know. I’m a stranger here myself.’”

We laughed ourselves to tears, much to Eamon’s dismay. I couldn’t have cared less. Rori had made it possible for me to walk into the throne room with my head held high. Alright, it took me another ten minutes because every time Eamon asked if I was ready, I started laughing again.

Finally though, the doors opened and I strode through the aisle. I tried not to look left or right, tried to ignore the crowd that had assembled to witness my coronation.

Call that Mission: Impossible. I was so nervous I searched for reassurance in the expressions of the audience. Bad idea.

On the right side—uh-oh! The Anti-Alistair Faction. Grim expressions, stern faces, some tried to look neutral. There were smiles, too. I knew these kinds of smiles. It was the “You are in deep trouble, son” type. It’s heart-warming when, as a monarch, you have the unwavering backup of the nobility! It makes life as a king so much simpler... Ha! Simple is for wimps! I had fought hordes of darkspawn, slain a broodmother, faced the archdemon, explained to the Grand Cleric why I had peed into the Maker’s floral arrangements... Some malcontent nobles couldn’t scare me! At least that’s what I kept telling myself…

The left side was crowded with my supporters. Fergus Cousland, Teagan, Bann Alfstanna, Leonas Bryland... What was left of the Mac Eanraig Clan still made more noise than the whole rest of the audience. Zevran whistled with his fingers as I passed by. Oghren held up a sign that looked like a huge hand with thumbs up, poking it in Sten’s face when he bounced up and down excitedly. Wynne and Leliana held up a knitted banner that had ‘Alistair for King’ in big, bold letters. Shale lifted Rori onto her shoulders and that was when Barkspawn escaped and joined me. The clumsy puppy followed me toward the Grand Cleric waiting at the dais. He was so excited he stumbled over his own feet several times. And I almost stumbled over him as he kept tripping me. I somehow managed to not make a complete fool of myself, passed by the honor guard, and then stopped in front of the Grand Cleric. She glowered at the dog, then her eyes fell on me and I swear her expression didn’t change a bit. When I knelt, Barkspawn sat next to me, wagging his tail.

“Is your Majesty willing to take the oath?” the Grand Cleric asked coolly. Duh, she was still mad at me for the ruined flowers...

“I... I am willing,” I croaked, the lump in my throat so thick I could hardly speak.

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of Ferelden according to the respective laws and customs?” the Grand Cleric asked.

“I solemnly promise to do so.” I repeated the words Eamon had made me memorize. Then I swore and promised a whole lot more. Honestly, I didn’t understand half of what she said. I was dizzy, overwhelmed, and overwrought by the fact that the Grand Cleric, with utmost reluctance, slammed the crown onto my head as if she were trying to rip my ears off. (Her revenge for the destroyed flowers, no doubt.) The metal of the crown felt cold against my forehead and hot against my red ears, its weight was pushing me down. It felt like carrying the world upon my shoulders—a responsibility I had never wanted and was now saddled with for the rest of my life. With some effort I rose and turned to the assembled nobility. They all bowed—more or less—when the Grand Cleric indignantly declared me king of Ferelden. I raised my hand and set my jaws firmly like I had practiced in front of the mirror endlessly—with Rori making faces behind my back. My expression was resolute, my stance strong. I radiated manliness and power... At least I do hope that’s what I looked like. There was cheering—more or less—and people clapped their hands. Good sign, right?

Maker! I so needed a drink.

First the speech, though. I’ve tried it the other way round a few times. It always was a disaster.

Kings give speeches quite often. I have scribes to write them for me. But I have trouble memorizing their stuff. For some time I tried with crib sheets—until I accidentally read from one of Rori’s letters instead when welcoming the Nevarran ambassador. Ever since, the Nevarrans have tried to decipher the mysterious code the king and queen use when communicating. They still believe “licking a lamppost” is the codename for a military operation.

For my coronation I had scribbled some notes on my palm. Unfortunately I was nervous with sweaty hands. So it was just me, putting my foot in my mouth again.

“My friends,” I began, very aware that with friends like some of those assembled, I certainly didn’t need enemies. “We are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory...”

Fergus and his uncle shoved Rori to the front and, followed by our dear companions, she came forward. She was all smiles with pride and adoration. The sentiment was very mutual.

“Of those who stood against the darkspawn siege of Denerim, there is one, in particular, who deserves… commendation.” Without Eamon and the Grand Cleric at my back and the assembled nobility right in front of me I would have grinned with foolish happiness and blown my woman kisses. I had to force my face to stay earnest. Hard to do when Rori was adorably blushed and bashful. “The one who led the final charge against the archdemon...”

“I didn’t lead anybody anywhere,” Rori muttered under her breath. She disliked her role as the Hero of Ferelden but she played along as she knew she had to. Her unwillingness made her appear humble and added to her great popular appeal. The people loved her and the nobility recognized her as a power not to be underestimated.

“... remains with us still...” Rori called it do-it-yourself fate. Maker forgive me, I couldn’t regret it. I felt guilty. I felt as if I had failed Duncan. I worried about Morrigan and the child, but I couldn’t regret it. “An inspiration to all she saved that day.” All flustered, Rori made faces at me to make me stop praising her to the skies. Instead, I reached out for her to take my hand and stand beside me. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I formally present my betrothed, Rori Elissa Cousland of Highever, who will soon be your queen.” There were cheers and whistles, the Mac Eanraigs somehow managed a bagpipe fanfare, the teyrn of Highever giddily bounced up and down and clapped his hands... Rori smiled sheepishly when our fingers intertwined, then she tiptoed to give me a quick peck to the cheek. And then we stood there, equally blushed and bashful and beamed at each other until Eamon cleared his throat.

“Your Majesty...”

“Err, yes... my dear, it’s hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more...”

“Well...” Rori said slowly.

“Shush! Hindsight is easier than foresight.” I whispered before raising my voice again. “I think it only appropriate that I return the favor.”

“Oh, alright, you can slay the next archdemon we encounter,” she offered generously.

“Splendid! Although I do hope that’s the one and only one we’ll meet in our lifetime. Actually as a reward...” I smiled lovingly at her. “... and as an engagement present” I whispered as an aside before returning to my full voice, “I offer you a boon of your choice.”

“Really? Awesome! I have this list, you see…”

“One boon, Rori!”

“You’ll find them all very reasonable...”

“Just pick one for now.” We both knew she would get anything she wanted anyway.

“Duh... I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it... and...” She beckoned me to lean closer, then whispered into my ear. “And it’s really nothing to discuss in public.” Out loud she said, “Right now there’s nothing more I can wish for than the blessings I already have. I mean, hey, I am going to marry the cutest king in all Thedas!”

“Cute!?” I poked her side, making her squeak. “But yeah, you do get to marry me. What more can a girl wish for?”

“Exactly!” The way she beamed at me, her eyes shining with love, it made my heart beat faster. Maker’s Breath! I loved her more than words could ever say.

“And I get to marry the woman I love. It’s like a dream come true!”

“You’re so cute!” She did that on purpose.

“Your Majesty!” Eamon groaned.

“Oh, yes, err, sorry...” I pointed my finger at Rori. “I will get my revenge and it won't be pretty.” Eamon facepalmed while Rori just smiled mischievously and gave me that upward glance of hers. “At any rate,” I added in a low and rather husky voice, “I can’t wait to be alone with you.” Sighing I went on: “These formal affairs drive me insane.”

“You’re alright, Alistair?” Rori asked worriedly, resting her hand on my chest above my heart.

Smiling, I closed my fingers around her hand. “I get to marry the woman I love. I figure there can’t be much better than that.”

“Ha! Always look on the bright side of life, right? It could have been Anora instead!”

I was glad when the coronation was over. Rori dragged me outside afterwards to meet and greet the gathered citizens of Denerim. They all wanted to see the Hero of Ferelden and the newly minted king. We waved and smiled and blew kisses. Eamon didn’t allow us to join the crowd and shake some hands. Oghren and Zev, however, took a bath in the crowd. When Leliana sung her song about our adventures—by then a popular tune—the people sung along. The elf threw himself off the balcony, trusting the people to catch him. When Oghren tried the same he hit the ground. Dagna displayed amazing fireworks. There also should have been a release of white doves, but Shale bodyslammed the cage when she saw it and we had to do without. Sten was mad at me for promising cake when there was none. “The cake is a lie!” he grunted. Barkley and Barkspawn played with a rather unwilling small black dog I had never seen before. The bitch seemed quite fond of Rori, even allowed her to pet her while she would growl at anybody else.

Afterward, there was a grand banquet. When we entered the dining room, there was this tiered cake with a tiny marzipan king on top. Sten was flying high, all smiles. He acted like a child at his birthday. The cake was no lie!

“Big softie,” Leliana muttered when passing by and Sten’s smile POOFed. He kept stuffing himself with cake, though, his face as long as a fiddle as if eating it was a terrible sacrifice.

“Humans have a better taste for spirits than I thought,” Oghren chortled. “This ale of yours is actually good. Orzammar ale tastes like dirt in comparison. Probably because they put dirt in it. Go figure!” Armed with the biggest mug he could find, he spent most of the banquet close by the huge barrels of ale, wine, and whiskey that had been put up at one side of the hall. Then Fergus challenged him to a drinking contest.

We celebrated our victory, our survival, me being king, Rori’s and my engagement. There was a lot of talking about our future plans. Sten became sappy about leaving for Par Volen—as sappy as that old grumper could actually be. Oghren invited us to his wedding with Felsi, Wynne and Shale were on a mission that sounded as impossible as Rori’s and mine. We also spoke about the past, sung our songs, exchanged some hugs, tackled Sten for some group cuddling. Maker! I couldn’t believe it was over and we were all still alive. I suppose we all felt the same about it.

Actually, everything went pretty well, all things considered. At least until Fergus—drunk as a lord—handed Amaranthine over to the Grey Wardens. He climbed onto the table, goblet in hand and bereft of his pants, and declared the Commander of the Grey Wardens the Arl of Amaranthine. “To ho-ho-honour the sssssssacriffffice of—hiccup—the Waaa-wardens,” he stammered, raising his goblet for a toast while he grinned toothily at me. “One o'em if my bro-in-law,” he added. “Anofer my lil’ sis.” He was utterly pleased with himself until Rori—suddenly very sober—overcame her state of shock and hauled potato dumplings at him. “I am the Commander, stupid!”

"He-hero o' Ferelden, Cooooommander, Qu-qu-queen an’ Arlesssssssa,” Fergus grinned. “You got sw-swayyy!” He swayed his hips and vanished out of sight when he drunkenly fell off the table.

I was pretty drunk myself but one look at Esmerelle and Elemena and I knew “Wasn’t me!” wouldn’t save me anymore. My now power-boosted betrothed would belie me.

“Leave it to Fergus, you said,” I sullenly muttered to my equally discouraged woman. I couldn’t really be mad at Fergus. Of course the Wardens deserved to be honored. However, Amaranthine had proven to be a hot potato and Fergus had successfully thrown it back at me and Rori. “He will fix this, you said. Nobody will blame me, you said.”

Honestly, it was exactly what I would have done with Amaranthine had the decision been mine. And I believe I might have mentioned it when Fergus was around. As far as I recall, this confession included Fergus and me, two goblets of wine, some brotherly hugs and a collection of cool Warden tales. I might have given the impression of wanting to give Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens... But I never, not for a single moment, believed he would actually do like I said!

Rori banged her head against the table. “Doom!” she groaned. “DOOM!”

My sentiments exactly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. At the moment it takes me longer to write the chapters (- I don't even want to mention the none-existing quality of this one). Someone dear and important to me and inspiring when it came to writing this story disappeared. I have no idea if something happened to her or if she just broke off contact. Whatever reason she did not have the guts to tell me. Anyway, I've lost a friend - a real one or an illusional one, sucks both - and the story reminds me of her. I'll keep writing but it has slowed down. Before this story was a source of happiness, now it makes me sad. I'm afraid you can totally see that in this chapter. VigilantThornwood called it underwhelming which is a really nice gentlemanly way to say it sucks.


	11. Good Bait Catches Fine Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Ashley Reid, professional editing manager.

“You were awesome! Kingly. Manly. You made quite an impression.”

“You’re only saying this because you want me to make love to you—again.”

“Really, Alistair, you should stop thinking so lowly of yourself. You believe you’re a failure in everything you do but that’s just not true. Your opinion of yourself doesn’t reflect what others think about you. Well, for the most part...”

“Charming. You do have a great way of boosting my ego,” I laughed.

“The coronation showed once more you have the potential to become a true king...” Rori insisted drunkenly.

“Coronation? You mean we’re not talking about my performance in bed?” I sulked. The last thing I wanted to be reminded of was my coronation day. To me, it had been like running a gauntlet and I was still utterly surprised I survived.

“Fishing for compliments, your Majesty?” Rori flicked her fingers against the crown I was still wearing. What can I say? Roleplay can spice up the good old lamppost licking business from time to time...

“Oh come on! Humor me!”

Grinning impishly, Rori shrugged out of my embrace, climbed on top of me, lolled with her arms lifted above her head as she rolled her hips lasciviously. “Hmm, let’s see...”

“The view is indeed spectacular,” I agreed, admiring her heaving bosom. Sighing contently, I cupped her breasts, rubbing my thumbs across her nipples.

“You make me go... mmmm...” Her sentence turned into a loud moan when I pinched her nipples and rolled them between my fingertips. “Your Majesty!” she purred in feigned indignation. “Wielding your scepter, are you? Scepter, get it? Hehe!” She circled her hands around my manhood.

“Oghren’s jokes don’t become funnier when repeated, kitten,” I sighed and poked her sides.

“Y-y-your Majesty!” she squeaked.

I hurried to kiss her before she could say more. I grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulled her against me and at the same time tossed the crown aside. I was sick and tired of His Majesty. I had gotten “your-majestied” all day long and I still was surprised people were actually addressing me. My mouth closed over hers, tasted the velvet sweetness of her tongue stroking mine. It started slowly, tenderly, then turned into fierce passion. We both sought release for the tension that had built inside of us all day long when all eyes had been on us and every step we took had been judged. Rori wiggled around on top of me, her slick core rubbing against my manhood. Her nails left red marks on my skin when I broke the kiss and assaulted her breasts, sucking roughly at her nipples. Her fingers dug into my shoulders as she clung to me, her breath hot against my skin she moaned her pleasure into my ear when she nibbled my earlobe.

“Maker’s Breath!” I moaned.

“Fuck the Maker!” Rori breathed, then clapped her hands over her mouth when she realized her blasphemy. “So-sorry,” she whispered.

“No worries, kitten,” I grinned sheepishly. “I peed into the Maker’s floral arrangements.”

“You didn’t! …Did you? Alistair Theirin, still waters run deep!” she laughed.

“I don’t know about the depth, but run they did...”

“Shush!” Rori giggled, swatting at me. “Forget the Maker! Fuck me! Real hard.”

“Your desire is my command.”

With an unexpectedly swift motion I turned her around and mounted her, making her squeal in surprise. She was so beautiful with her cheeks blushed and her dark blue eyes shining with love and desire. My rhythm became harder and faster, the bed rocking against the wall forcefully every time I thrust into her. Rori clung to me, her legs wrapped around my waist, her nails raking down my back. We made a hellish noise—Rori’s cute mewing noises, her screams and my moans of pleasure, the bed slamming against the paneled wall...

... and then all of a sudden one board became loose and dropped onto Rori’s head just when we reached our point of release.

“Maker! Kitten! Are you hurt?!” I tossed the board aside and took Rori’s face in my hands. She blinked dazedly, groaned and rubbed her forehead, a bump already forming there.

“Ow! Not exactly lightning but I suppose the Maker made his point...” she groused as she testingly touched the bump. “Ouch! That was mind-numbing for sure.” She struggled to sit up to examine the wall. “Ugh. My head is spinning... Hey, look! There’s a hollow space behind the panel...” Without hesitation she stuck her hand into the hole, her headache forgotten when her rogue instincts kicked in. “There’s something inside...”

“Spiders?”

She froze, paled visibly, shuddered, then glowered at me. “Jerk!” She retrieved her hand, examining it carefully. “You get whatever is inside. It’s your palace, after all.”

It was a journal. Well, several journals bound in leather and scribbled with terribly untidy handwriting that even beat mine. Sitting on the bed cross-legged we spent the next few hours trying to decipher the scrawl.

“Listen to this.” With squinted eyes Rori read out loud: “... The hero is hopping mad. For him the... Maker! How can anybody have such a scrawl! ... fiasco at the circle is all about the foe. There is a threat that makes the foe pale in comparison, but the hero won’t listen. For him the griffons are the foe’s spies. He objects to my plans for their return, but I won't cave in. Not this time...”

“Mysterious.”

Rori tapped her index finger against her lips thoughtfully. “Whoever hid the journals here, it was his room, the king’s bedroom. The journals are too old to be Cailan’s...”

“Maker’s Breath!” I exclaimed. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

We looked at each other and gasped in unison: “Maric’s diaries!”

“Merciful Andraste! Alistair! Do you know what that means? We could finally find your mother! Your real mother!”

“First we have to decipher his scrawl and his cipher. The hero? The foe? The griffons? Griffons died out a long time ago... What in the name of the Maker is he talking about?”

Rori smacked the back of my head with the journal. “Grey Wardens, stupid!”

“Your stupid Majesty, if you please! And don’t you dare smack my royal head again!” Rori didn’t seem worried. She just stuck out her tongue at me then returned to the diaries.

“The Wardens were exiled until Maric brought them back. The hero, that’s Loghain of course. And that means the foe is Orlais. Didn’t Wynne mention Maric and the Wardens visited Kinloch Hold?”

“We have to keep this a secret,” I whispered when it finally dawned at me what we had found. I had grown up believing my mother was a maid at Redcliffe Castle. When it was decided I should oppose Anora, Eamon had confessed he had no idea who my mother truly was. “With my luck it’ll turn out my mother is Orlesian.”

“Or an elf,” Rori added. Ouch, an elf would certainly be worse.

“Or a mage. But their children belong to the Chantry.”

“She could have been an apostate,” Rori pointed out.

“Next you’re going to say Maric had an affair with Flemeth and Morrigan is my sister.”

“You always wanted a big family! And Morrigan certainly isn’t worse than Goldanna...”

“I slept with Morrigan! And killed Flemeth!” I exclaimed in horror.

“Oh... yes... gross. No affair with Flemeth for Maric. But hey, your mum could still turn out be an elven mage from Orlais...”

“I’m not sure I really want to know...” We both knew this wasn’t true, but after Goldanna and with my new job as king, I was both curious about and afraid of the truth. “Perhaps he didn’t mention her at all...”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Rori was already skimming through the journal. I put my hands onto the pages to stop her.

“Yes, but not tonight. First I have to digest this... I have to take counsel with my pillow about this.” All my life I had yearned to get to know my father and now I held his most private thoughts in my hands. I wasn’t prepared for this.

“You’re right,” Rori said with a gentle smile, handing the journal to me. “It’s your choice to decide if you want to know and when.”

We stuffed the journals back into the hole and replaced the panel carefully, making sure it wouldn’t smash our skulls while we slept. Huddled together in bed, I lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness. Maker! It sounded so strange. King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden. I sometimes wondered if they had gotten the right man. This all felt like a huge mistake. I was sure I would never sleep well again. The nightmares that came with being a Grey Warden, the worries that came with being king... Rori, she was sleeping like a log, her dreamcatcher dangling above her, while I turned problems round and round in my head and sometimes poked Rori when her drunken snoring became too loud. Then she would mumble in her sleep and paw her nose. It was absolutely adorable and gave me a rest from my gloomy thoughts. Not for long, though; they were too noisy and omnipresent. Eamon had already handed me my schedule for the next day... Ugh! Now that I was king, I had to decide what to do with Gwaren. First item on my agenda. That also meant I had to decide on Anora’s fate...

Doom!

DOOM!

Needless to say, meeting her wasn’t something I was particularly looking forward to. But a king has to do what a king has to do, right?

My advisors weren’t happy with my decision. They would have preferred I order her execution right away. Rori called me insane. She said Anora had proven over and over again that I couldn’t trust her. Still... deep down inside I knew it was the right thing to do, so that’s what I did.

“The capital is destroyed,” Anora snapped indignantly as if I were personally responsible the moment I entered her cell at Fort Drakon. She had returned there after the defeat of the archdemon. Not voluntarily of course. Without Sandal she would have been long gone, would have fled and met one of her supporters to form her rebellion against the “usurper of the throne.” She shouldn’t have taken the ring Sandal offered her with an innocent smile when she was about to abandon him in the chaos after the battle. I don’t know why she took and wore it, but the moment the ring slipped onto her finger, she became as still as a statue. When we finally dropped by to get her, several pigeons had already paid her a visit. Sandal was sitting on a rock next to her like a good boy and fed the birds with crumbs.

“It’s nice to see you, too.” I dead-panned.

“My father would have never abandoned Denerim!”

I sighed and silently counted to ten. “I’m a busy man. A capital to rebuild, a nation to rule. You know how it is. So could we please skip the blame and talk business?”

Anora snorted loudly. Her imprisonment obviously had not changed her attitude. “You already need my help. I wish I could say I was surprised. Ferelden deserves a true leader, but it got a boy playing king.”

“You were the one who treated this position like a game, using whatever pawns you could to cling to your status,” I pointed out. “You’ve lost, Anora. Check and mate.”

She snorted and turned her back on me, staring out of the metal-grilled window. She inhabited the luxury version of a cell. Her father hadn’t been as kind when he imprisoned Rori and me in the dungeon. Back then Anora could have proven herself. She failed. In the end, that was what had brought her here. I bestrode the only chair, resting my arms on the back of the chair. It had seemed right to come here. I had even argued with Rori about it. Now I didn’t remember anymore what had brought me here. Anora was the same ice queen she had always been.

“You keep saying you only want the best for Ferelden. Fact is, as long as you live and oppose me, you are a threat,” I began, running my fingers through my hair tiredly. I still had no clue why anybody would want to be king. My life as a Grey Warden had been far easier for sure. And I had known where to find my foes. Now I met smiling faces everywhere. “Of course, your Majesty.” “As you wish, your Majesty.” “As you please, your Majesty”... Nobody dared to speak openly as long as I was around. I could raid the larder without getting scolded. People actually laughed at my jokes! If they understood them, anyway. Mostly they only did when Rori laughed so hard she snorted her drink out of her nose. That was when the rest joined in with their false laughter... Blast it! If I hadn’t known Anora wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of me for good, I’d have handed her the blasted crown—gift-wrapped.

“Did you figure this out yourself or did Eamon spell it out to you?”

“A little bird told me,” I dead-panned and Anora glared at me in undisguised contempt. I smiled brightly in return, then quickly closed my mouth before the urge to stick out my tongue became too much to bear. “That leaves two options,” I returned to the matter at hand, “either you support me or you die. I’d rather not kill you...”

“You have already murdered my father,” Anora hissed. “And now you want me to believe you have a twinge of conscience?”

“Really?” I groaned. “And some people say you’re sharp. Well, let’s see: Your father abandoned his king, poisoned Eamon, had the Couslands murdered, sold Fereldan citizens to Tevinter slavers, and that’s only a handful of his crimes.” I didn’t mention Duncan. He was my personal reason and not one Anora would ever understand or accept. “He didn’t show any sign of remorse when confronted for his actions. If he had only once looked beyond his own nose, if he had only once questioned his motives and actions, he could have saved himself and Ferelden. If you are just as shortsighted, it was a waste of time coming here.” I rose and walked towards the door.

“Fine,” Anora said icily when I opened the door. “What do you want? My support? And what do I get in return?”

I closed the door again. “Gwaren.”

“Gwaren already belongs to me!” Anora snapped. “The people of Gwaren are absolutely loyal. They will never accept anybody else as their teyrn but my father’s rightful heir!”

“You do know that Gwaren was overrun by darkspawn, don’t you?”

“Yet more proof of your ineptitude!”

“They sent for help but your father didn’t do anything to defend his teyrnir.”

“A small sacrifice for a greater good.”

“Yeah, well, you can tell that to the people of Gwaren. Most of them escaped. They left with ships and helplessly watched their town being destroyed. I’m afraid they don’t think as fondly of your father anymore as they did before the Blight. In Gwaren, the name Mac Tir has become synonymous with disappointment and abandonment.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Anora asked after a long pause. She watched me suspiciously.

“One, because I thought you would be interested to know the fate of Gwaren’s people. My mistake. Two, to make clear that I can give Gwaren to any noble... or to the people of Gwaren themselves. I do not need to rely on you.”

“To the people themselves!?”

“I’ve been thinking about a royal burgh...” I began. The thought had occurred to me when Levi had told me about the Free Marches, the burghs there and the hansa. It sounded truly awesome, cities ruled by an elected council of citizens. That was quite a difference compared to placing the fate of the people in the hands of whatever eldest son or daughter their former ruler had. I mean, look at Vaughan Kendells! Nobody in their right mind would have voted for him!

“You want them to rule themselves!?” Anora exclaimed, truly shocked. “Simple people without any noble blood?”

“May I remind you that your father was born one of those simple people?”

“That... is something completely different!” she said aloofly.

“Ho-hum.”

“The landsmeet will never approve your plans!”

“See, there’s this funny law that says I can solely appoint a new ruler in case the bloodline of the ruling family goes extinct. That’s how Maric could raise your father to the position of teyrn of Gwaren.”

“You read the law?” Anora couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Nope. Rori knew about it. I wouldn’t dare dream of shattering your lowly view of me.”

“The nobility will soon see what kind of man you are,” she predicted. “They will not accept being ruled by a usurper and then my time will come!”

“If I am stupid enough to allow you to live. Really, Anora, is this what you want for Ferelden? Another civil war? Fergus Cousland returned. I will marry his sister. The Guerrins, the Mac Eanraigs, the Brylands, the Drydens...”

“Who?”

“Levi Dryden, newly minted Arl of Denerim. Did I mention that funny, yet really useful law?” I grinned as foolishly as possible. Nothing I’d call challenging. “Anyway, I do not stand alone. Don’t mistake my offer for weakness. I am doing this for Ferelden. Us working together would be a benefit to this nation...”

“I offered a marriage! We could have ruled together!”

“You mean, you would have ruled and I would have looked pretty beside you,” I corrected her. “Thank you, but no thank you.” Marrying Anora! Ugh! I’d rather have fought the archdemon again.

“I will never swear fealty to you! I would rather die!” Anora declared in a tone that brooked no dissent.

“As you wish.” Followed by her icy silence I walked back to the door without looking back.

“Don't you want to convince me?” Anora asked when I was already through the door.

I turned in the doorway. “Not really, no.”

“But you do need me!”

“Let’s get one thing clear, my lady. It is you who needs me.” Thus said, I slammed the door shut in her face, stepped away from the small rectangle notch in the door so that she couldn’t see me anymore and walked on the spot to make it sound as if I was leaving.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Alistair!”

Nice try, really. But she could do better.

“ALISTAIR!”

Wow. Sitting in a cell, facing her certain death and she was still ordering me around. I kept walking.

“Your Majesty!” She sounded as if she was choking on the words.

I stopped, turned with my boots making a clearly audible crunching sound on the ground. “Did you say something?”

“I’ve thought about your offer,” Anora said. “Maybe we can come to an agreement.” I walked on the spot some more to make it sound as if I returned then stepped back into sight.

“Fine, so let’s see… You swear fealty in front of the assembled landsmeet. I suggest you practice in front of a mirror. With that sore an expression you will convince nobody. And I want you to convince them that I am the one and only rightful king. You will waive your claim. And you’d better not try any of your tricks. Don’t even think about it.”

“Why? Would you kill me like you killed my father?”

“If, like him, you left me no option, yes, I would.” That shut her up effectively.

“I hate you!” she spat in my face.

“That’s quite alright. I’m not particularly fond of you, either. Hate me all you want as long as you do what you so enjoy telling everyone and their dog is your only meaning in life: Serve Ferelden.” Whoa! I was impressed with myself. How cool and nonchalant I sounded, even when my knees felt like pudding and I was sweating so heavily a goldfish could have easily survived in my armpits.

“What do I get in return?”

“Your life, your freedom, and your teyrnir.”

“What makes you so sure I won’t relegate my objectives once I am free?”

“You’re not stupid, Anora. Insidious. Villainous. Malicious. All of that, but not stupid. And you do love Ferelden. You know that another civil war will tear this country apart and would weaken it to a point where Orlais need only reach out and take it on a silver platter.”

“That is uncharacteristically wise of you,” Anora observed after a long pause.

“Shush! That’s just between the two of us. People could get the wrong impression.” I said dryly. “Deal?”

“We have an accord,” Anora answered snobbishly. “Now open that door immediately!”


	12. Make A Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to Ashley Reid for another awesomely edited chapter.

Much to everybody’s surprise, Anora did swear fealty in front of the Landsmeet. Too bad most of the nobles weren’t present but rather sent their representatives. I still hoped Anora’s change of mind would make some impression. It was so quiet in the hall you could hear a pin drop. There was no pin, just Oghren farting. It still was a grand moment, thanks to Anora. She just knew how to make her appearance. Rori fidgeted around uncomfortably, when the former queen entered the hall in all her graceful, cool perfection.

“How can anybody be so... flawless?” Rori complained unhappily in a hushed whisper. With her fingers she unsuccessfully tried to brush her too short hair to cover the bump at her forehead. My own bump was hidden by my crown. Where that one came from? Let's just say I might have teased Rori a bit too much by calling her my little unicorn and she threw a book at me. She didn’t intend to hit me, and if I hadn’t dodged it would have sailed past me, but in so doing I had stepped right into it. “Look at her, she’s like a piece of art! And I’m a doodle...” She started tugging at her dress to make sure everything was in the right place. “How she holds her head up high, and that porcelain complexion. Not a single hair sticking out in the wrong direction. I will never be like her!”

“Thank the Maker!” I exclaimed, making her smile in reply.

Anora was very convincing. Nobody dared to interrupt her, nobody questioned her motives. At least they didn’t dare say anything out loud. There were rumors already; Rori had dug them up. How I had threatened Anora, how she had sold herself away, how she was going to get back at me and so on.

At this very moment at the Landsmeet, it was Anora’s grandeur that silenced the gossipers. She had been defeated, and now she returned. Although she accepted me and thus lost her claim, it was a victorious moment for her. For the first time ever, Anora had done exactly like she had promised. Rori let out a sigh of pure relief and finally released my hand she had been squeezing nervously. I was relieved myself. I had never been sure how Anora would react. Still, I had to try.

Much to Anora’s surprise, I kept my promise and confirmed her Teyrna of Gwaren. Sure, she didn’t yet know of the territory granted to the Dalish or of the Gwaren senate that put the people of Gwaren in power over their own town... I wasn’t looking forward to explaining this to her later, but I hoped she wouldn’t bite of my head or worse...

In addition to her teyrnir, I offered her a position in my council as my advisor. I had no time to discuss this with Eamon or Rori so it hit them like a hammer—and honestly I didn't even think about it before I opened my mouth and by then it was already too late. What can I say? It seemed like a good idea. Eamon was still gasping for air when Rori recovered from her shock and in front of the whole Landsmeet went, “Are you fucking mad!?”

“Language,” Wynne’s voice sounded from the far end of the hall. She and Shale planned a long journey together, but Rori had persuaded them to stay for our wedding. It was sad to see how everybody went on with their own lives after we had spent such a long time together. Next to all the terrible things that happened during the Blight, there is this fellowship I will always remember fondly. It sounds strange, but really, this one year of the Blight was the best time of my life. Ever. Far better than being stuck with malcontent nobles for the rest of my life.

“Why would you offer me such a position?” Anora asked suspiciously.

“Only a united Ferelden can deal with this crisis after the Blight. We have to trust and help each other for the sake of our beloved nation...”

“Alistair! Trusting this backstabbing bitch is like handing her a dagger and turning your back to her, marked with a huge X! ‘Please stab here!’” Rori exclaimed, not giving a damn that Anora was standing right next to her. Eamon tried to stop Rori from arguing with me right in front of the Landsmeet. Needless to say, he failed. “We trusted her in the past—several times—and she betrayed us every single time!”

“I only tried to do what I believed to be best for Ferelden!” Anora hissed, her face blushed with anger.

“Maker preserve us from your next tries!” Rori retorted hotly.

“Rori, I am the king...”

“Not for very much longer. Anora will make sure of that!” Rori cried out in anger and frustration.

“Could you please shut up and let me say what I have to say?”

“Sure. Dig your own grave. Just don’t come running and say I haven’t warned you!” Rori sulked and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

I couldn’t help grinning. It took me some effort to put my kingly face back on. “How can I expect others to act on that maxim when I, their king, am not willing to accept anybody but my supporters as my advisors? I can only ask for their trust and support when I listen to their concerns as well, and consider them equally important.” Rori, Anora, Eamon—they stood there in a row, all slack-jawed and gawked at me as if I had sprouted a second head. They reminded me of a flock of extraordinarily awkward sheep. “Oh come on! I was so proud of that thought. It can’t be that stupid.”

“Wow,” Rori was the first to recover. “No, it is not stupid. It’s...”

“... wise,” Anora finished the sentence for her. Her voice rang out clearly, reaching the farthest corner of the hall. Then everything happened very fast. Someone shouted “Long live King Alistair!” The cry was answered by more and more throats, people clapped their hands and stomped their feet. Okay, some only joined in with delay and halfheartedly, but the majority was swept away by my royal wisdom. Whoa! Strange! That usually was the moment when I would wake up somewhere in public without my pants on...

“You forgot to add ‘uncharacteristically’,” I pointed out, feeling myself blush violently when the cheering didn’t stop and the Mac Eanraigs started to roar “For he's a jolly good fellow.”. “Pinch me,” I muttered to Rori. She obeyed instantly. Ouch! Nope, no dream. All real.

“I am beginning to believe it is not as out of character as I had originally thought,” Anora admitted hesitantly and with much dismay.

“Yeah, well...” I shrugged uneasily and shuffled my feet.

“You’ve planned this,” Eamon muttered proudly next to me. “The designation, the argument, the explanation... well done! Like father, like son. Maric would be proud of you.” I couldn’t make myself tell him I had not planned anything at all. Inviting Anora into the council had been a spontaneous idea. I had not wasted a single thought on the consequences.

This was becoming unbearable... So I raised my hands to silence my audience. Ha! Who would have thought anybody would ever listen to me? For a moment I was tempted to tell them we all would now dance a polonaise through the palace just to see if would work. Instead...

“The Grand Cleric may also be part of my council...” I hurried to add before they could go on patting my shoulder.

“You are too magnanimous. your Majesty,” the Grand Cleric said icily. By the look on her face, wise wasn’t the word she would have used to describe me. I groaned inwardly. I didn’t know what I had done wrong—AGAIN!—but she was still mad at me for whatever reason.

Zevran wasn’t as delighted as everybody else. He banged his head against the back of the throne repeatedly. “Remember what I told you about the popular royal bastards?” he asked sourly when I wondered aloud about his behavior.

“They get homemade socks for birthday?”

“Alistair, my naive friend, you can call yourself lucky if you live long enough to celebrate your next birthday.” the elf said gloomily.

Two days later when we left for Redcliffe, still nobody had tried to murder me. Levi had certainly been tempted when we left him alone with the state business because Rori and I were going to attend first Oghren’s, then Teagan’s wedding. In between I was supposed to travel around, make myself known, and show interest in the concerns of my people. I had a long agenda of first official visits. Rori planned a trip to Haven to see if Andraste’s ashes could heal us and would meet me in Orzammar for a state visit. On our way back, we would drop by Highever for Fergus’s wedding and return just in time for our own.

“Eamon will return right after Teagan’s wedding,” I assured Levi. Eamon had to take Connor to Kinloch Hold and although he was reluctant to leave Denerim, he wouldn’t hand his son over to the local templars. He loved Connor too much to abandon him, although the boy was convinced he didn’t deserve anybody’s love, least of all his father’s, after what he had done at Redcliffe. “Bann Angus will stay with you until then.”

We bid farewell to Levi and to Bodahn and Sandal. They were about to leave for Kirkwall for business. They had become part of the trade connections Levi was spinning all across Thedas. I had so many horses in the race of different businesses I had already lost track of most of them. Anyway, Rori cuddled and hugged Sandal. Dagna cuddled and hugged Sandal. And then it was my turn.

“Enchantment!” Sandal beamed at me happily, took my hand, and dropped two almost identical rings into it. One small, one larger. Two filigree bands of gold, spun across an obsidian core with one white diamond at the center of a golden crown. “Enchantment! Enchantment!”

“Maker’s Breath! You made wedding rings for Rori and me? Thank you, Sandal. I... wow... this means a lot to me.” I was so moved by his gift, I wanted to hug the young dwarf again but he was already thoroughly saying goodbye to Barkley. I had grown fond of Sandal and his father and it was sad to see them leave as well. Bless Rori; she made them promise to return for our wedding.

Back on the road again it felt like the old days. Zevran was making saucy remarks about Wynne’s bosom. Shale complained about the birds and the weak flesh creatures. Oghren was drunk before we even passed through the gates of Denerim. Sten munched on cookies and glowered gloomily at everybody who dared to look his way. Leliana was chatting endlessly about shoes. Rori and I fooled around. Yep, just like the old days minus Morrigan. At least, as long as I did not look over my shoulder at the entourage following us. I still wasn’t used to all the things that seem necessary when a king travels. And all the soldiers to keep me safe! Men and women willing to risk their lives for me and defend me against any threat. It had been my part to protect for such a long time I kept forgetting I was the protected one now.

So naturally when the cart came into sight, I was the first to spur my horse, ignoring Eamon’s cries. It had toppled over at the side of the road, half stuck in the ditch and buried a man beneath it. His legs were stuck and he didn’t have the strength to lift the heavy cart on his own. I jumped off my horse and waded through the mud, rolling up my sleeves.

“Hold on! We’re going to help you!” I grunted, trying to lift the cart. It didn’t move an inch. Blast! It was heavy. Oghren and Zevran joined me, Rori and Leliana knelt down in the mud, ready to pull the man out from under the cart when we lifted it. “Another try. One, two, three...” The blasted cart still didn’t move.

“If the useless, weak flesh creatures would step aside,” Shale droned behind us, shooing us away. And then she lifted the whole cart with one hand and tossed it aside as if it was a toy. “It is my former master’s son,” she then observed with one look at the unfortunate man. “How very ironic!”

“Mattias of Honleath?” He was in terrible condition. His legs were a pulp of bones and blood and flesh, his breathing was ragged and pained.

“Now look at that mess!” Shale snorted disgustedly.

“A-amalia!” the blond man gasped, his voice hardly audible. A shudder ran through him and he groaned in agony, unable to say more.

“Hush,” Wynne said softly as she knelt down beside him, summoning her magic. “Quiet now, don’t waste your strength.”

But Mattias wouldn’t listen. “Amalia! They took her!” he croaked, lifting his arm to point the direction.

Rori asked “Who?” when I was already hurrying back to my horse. A little girl was in danger. No time to waste! Especially not with a girl like Amalia. She had a way of getting into trouble. And off I rushed down the road, Rori at my heels, a desperate Eamon shouting after me. We had lost too many horses during the battle, so most of the soldiers were walking. No way they could have caught up with me in time. Eamon couldn’t leave his son alone and before my personal guard could react, Rori and I had already disappeared into the woods...

Amalia was nowhere to be seen. We followed the main road through the forest for awhile until Rori spotted a plush cat on the ground of a path leading towards a tavern.

“It looks exactly like Kitty,” Rori said, fishing the cat off the ground with her sword. “It’s Amalia’s for sure.”

We rode towards the tavern, a small wooden house on a clearing in the middle of the woods. In front of the inn benches and tables stood in the sun. Only one of the tables was occupied by a group of unpleasantly merry templars. They had slung the end of a rope around one leg of the table. The other end was wound around a child’s waist, her head covered by a sack, her hands bound at her back. Her smudged dress was torn, her bare feet were smeared with dirt and blood. Her shoulders were twitching as she cried silently.

“Thirsty?” a bearded templar laughed and poured a pitcher of water over the child's head. His companions joined in his roaring laughter when the girl cried out and gasped for air in panic.

“Hey Percy, I think she wants some more,” a younger dark-haired templar smirked. “It’s such a hot day.” Grinning, Ser Percy reached for a second pitcher.

“Enough! Stop that now!” I roared, hurriedly climbing off my horse. A bit too hurriedly as I got stuck in my stirrup and now hobbled around on one foot, trying to pull it free. “Blast it!”

The templars turned to me as one, regarding me with squinted eyes. I admit, I didn’t look very kingly that moment, covered in mud, sweaty, wearing only one boot, the second still stuck in my stirrup.

“Ha! It’s good ole Alice!” Ser Percy laughed. “How have you been, loser?”

“Alice?” Rori muttered next to me. “You know them?” Unfortunately, I did. We had been trained together. They were the trio that had stuck sharp pebbles into my shoes, had put living snakes into my bed, had hidden my books, had spat into my bowl at lunch. Once had thrown me into the latrine where I had stood in excrement up to my throat until Brother Lorenz had appeared for his afternoon sitting... Mind you, this recollection is not complete. Percy, Garth, and Linus were everything templars should never be.

“Leave the girl alone, Sers,” I pressed through gritted teeth, putting my boot back on when Rori handed it to me.

“Hey, Percy, I think Alice is threatening us,” Linus, the younger one, giggled.

“Or you’ll do what?” Ser Percy smirked and emptied the pitcher over Amalia’s head.

“Or I will lambast you,” I said coolly.

“You and what army?” Ser Garth blurted out, tears of laughter stinging in his eyes.

I pointed at Rori. Rori grinned and waved.

That had the templars laughing so hard they could hardly breathe anymore.

“Alice, Alice, here’s a piece of advice: You two little ladies better slip off before you get hurt and start crying.” Ser Percy gasped, tears of laughter still flowing.

“Oh come on, Percy, give them a chance,” Linus chuckled unpleasantly, his eyes raking over Rori. “I’m sure we can have some fun together.”

Rori and I looked at each other, nodded, rolled our sleeves up and attacked three templars in full plate armor.

Rori went for leering Ser Linus. He was still mocking her for being a little girl when she threw sand into his eyes. Then her fist met his nose. The very moment her knuckles collided with his face, she twisted her wrist, not only breaking his nose but mashing the bones to a bloody pulp. Linus toppled over and Rori slammed her arm down on the back of his neck. Using his momentum, she hauled him around and slammed him onto the ground. When Garth came for her, she let herself drop down, rolled out of his way, kicked his legs from under him and sent him down. She was on top of him before he could get back to his feet and knocked him out with one well-aimed blow to the side of his head.

Meanwhile I was boxing with Percy. We danced around each other, searching for a gap in the cover. While Percy could land low blows as I wasn’t wearing any armor, I could only effectively punch him straight in the face. I was lucky he didn’t wear his gauntlets when he rammed his fist into my stomach. I saw it coming, pushed all air out of my lungs and tensed my muscles when dodging was no longer an option. He still threw me to the ground and, jumping back to my feet, I wrapped my arms around his waist to drive him back against the table. Percy hammered his fists onto my head and I had to let go, stumbling out of reach. He blocked my blow, I dodged his, cursing under my breath when I realized the armor was his biggest advantage. Some blows hit their mark, but I couldn’t manage to cover both my body and face and soon blood was dripping from my nose. Bloody blast it!

That’s when Rori called: “Need any help?” and Percy for a moment didn’t watch out when he became aware of Garth and Linus both down and out.

“What the...?” he breathed, never finishing his sentence as I punched him straight in the face with all the strength I could muster. Ser Percy rolled his eyes, staggered, and fell like a chopped down tree.

“Ha! I have wanted to do this ever since I first met that prick!” I cheered, wiping my bloody nose. Rori didn’t even show a single scratch while I rapidly began to resemble a raccoon. People just tend to underestimate her. They see a little girl with huge blue eyes and think, “How much damage could she possibly do?” And then they have no time at all to regret their error.

We freed Amalia from the sack and bonds. The poor girl was so scared she had no control over herself or her power and I had to use my templar skills on her to counter her unintended spells.

“Hush, Amalia, you are safe now. They will not hurt you again,” Rori whispered soothingly when the sobbing girl crawled away from us, crying for her father. “Mattias is alright. Wynne took care of him. You remember Granny Wynne?” We had just managed to calm her down and make her take a seat when the templars recovered and rose to immediately draw their weapons.

“Playtime is over, Alice,” Percy growled as they began to circle us, swords raised.

“Amalia, hide inside,” I ordered, unsheathing my sword. Rori shooed the girl towards the door of the inn, blocking her from the templars.

And that was the very moment when Eamon, our Blight companions, and part of my entourage arrived.

“Bad timing,” I muttered sullenly when Percy and his buddies dropped their swords as soon as they found themselves surrounded and outnumbered. I wouldn’t have minded sending Percy and his buddies back to the Maker.

“Your Majesty!” Eamon gasped when he caught sight of me, eyes swollen, face and shirt covered in blood.

“I’m fine,” I hurried to say.

“Majesty?” Percy croaked. “Who? Alice?”

“Surprise, surprise!” I smirked. Their faces! Priceless! And there I had thought being king meant nothing but trouble. I leant back and reveled in the moment when Eamon smacked the back of Percy’s head and my soldiers forced him to kneel down.

“Show some respect! You are talking to King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden!” Eamon barked.

“Alice!?” Garth exclaimed in mere disbelief. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“None you would find funny,” I replied merrily. “Although I have to admit, I sometimes wonder the same. It’s Queen Alice by the way, if you please. Royals stand on ceremony.”

“Maker preserve us!” Percy breathed when it finally dawned on him.

“Arl Eamon, what is the penalty for attacking the king and his betrothed?” I asked nonchalantly.

“Death, your Majesty,” Eamon answered without hesitation.

“What!?” Linus shrieked, as white as a sheet. “But we didn’t know he is king! We only did our duty! This girl is a mage! We’re taking her to Kinloch Hold! It’s our duty! We didn’t know...” He began to cry. “Please, please, your Majesty, show mercy!”

“Like you showed mercy to Amalia?” I asked.

“She is a mage. She burnt down a tavern with her uncontrolled magic,” Percy insisted, he tried to get up but was pushed back to the ground by Ser Cauthrien. Angrily he brushed her hand off his shoulder. She kindly reminded him of his position by smacking the back of his head with her gauntleted hand. “This is Chantry business, not yours... your Majesty,” Percy added, rubbing the back of his head.

“Taking young mages to the Circle is a templar’s business; torturing them is not,” Rori snapped furiously. “And what have you done to her father?”

“He wouldn’t let us take her away,” Linus pouted. “And what do you care? It’s just a peasant’s child.”

“Wrong. This is the granddaughter of Wilhelm of Honleath, the mage who fought at King Maric’s side during the rebellion. His heroic deeds were rewarded by King Maric with the allowance to live a life outside the Circle in service of the Arl of Redcliffe,” Rori said in her high-and-mighty tone. Shale snorted loudly but kept her mouth shut when Rori shot her a look.

“A mage is a mage, they cannot be trusted and sure as hell shouldn’t be rewarded,” Percy grunted. “We've been sent here from Kirkwall as a reinforcement for the Fereldan Circle. Knight Commander Meredith chose us personally for this mission.”

“She either wanted to get rid of them, or she is nobody I ever want to meet,” I observed. Percy sneered but kept his mouth shut. By templar standards I was a complete failure—but then, so was he. Templars were supposed to be honorable knights. Men like Percy compromised the integrity of the order.

“It seems the Fereldan Circle lacks proper leadership. We will go to Kinloch Hold and we will take this mage with us. Are you going to stop us?” Garth demanded to know.

It was a challenge. He knew as well as I did that I couldn’t just hang three templars, king or no, without risking serious trouble with the Grand Cleric. Maker! She would have spat glowing embers if I had harmed their templars. Nobles cannot exercise power over templars as they please. That applies to the king, too.

“No. I will accompany you,” I said softly after a moment of contemplation—which I used to stare menacingly at the three templars. As menacingly as anybody can stare with both his eyes black and swollen.

Forcing them to travel with me, I could make sure Greagoir learned of the templars’ actions. I couldn’t order him to send them away, not without the consent of the Grand Cleric. As she didn’t like me—not at all—it was very unlikely she would yield to a royal request. I somehow had to make her do what I wanted her to do without her realizing she was doing me a favor. Greagoir’s words she would listen to, so he was an essential backup. One look at Connor was enough to convince me I didn’t want these men anywhere near the Fereldan Circle. The boy had been scared of the Circle to begin with. Now, after witnessing what templars had done to Amalia and her father, he was terrified. Percy, Garth, and Linus were the incarnation of what was wrong with the templar order. It was about time the Chantry changed its policy and I was going to make that change happen... I just didn’t know how. But, hey, where there’s a will, there's a way. Or to say it like Rori: I bloody blast it would give it a try!

Amalia was so frightened her magic kept erupting and I had to keep her close to control her. Same with Connor. For once Eamon didn’t object, although babysitting two little mages certainly wasn’t part of a king’s job description. I patiently explained to the children what I would do should their magic get out of control, made sure they understood it wouldn’t hurt, and that there would be no punishment for their lack of control. They also did not have to fear hurting someone as I would prevent it. I still felt like a complete ass when Amalia stared at me with huge frightened eyes as if there was a monster hiding beneath the surface. Finally, when I handed Barkspawn to her when he was tired from walking, she offered me a shy smile. She sat on her father’s cart next to Mattias’s sleeping form, cradling my dog in her lap and wiping her father’s brow from time to time. After Wynne’s healing he still was in critical condition, but he would survive.

“Not all templars are like them,” I assured Connor as the boy kept regarding the templars fearfully.

“They should be,” Connor answered in a low voice thick with guilt. “Mages are dangerous. They do not deserve any better.”

“You are a child, Connor. You did not know what you were doing. You did not want to hurt anybody...”

“Don’t say I am not responsible because I am,” Connor whispered hoarsely. “I wish I was dead...”

It wouldn’t have made any difference if I had told him the people of Redcliffe held Isolde responsible, not Connor. I only would have caused more harm. I could relate to how he felt. The mere thought of having to walk in his shoes was too much to bear. I didn’t know what to say, so I just put my hand on his shoulder for comfort.

Later that day when the children had fallen asleep on the cart, Eamon came to talk to me. “I don’t want these men anywhere close to my son. I know you cannot order them to leave. You could demand them to be handed over for attacking you and then put them to justice, but the Grand Cleric would expect a favor in return.” We both knew it wouldn’t be a small favor.

“Traveling nowadays is so incredibly dangerous,” Zevran’s voice sounded from behind us when we rode in thoughtful silence. “Rampant darkspawn, bandits, bolting horses, and this lake... how well can templars swim in their armor?”

Maker forgive me but I was tempted.

“Lady Isolde gets along well with the Grand Cleric, doesn’t she?” Leliana asked before I could put Zevran’s ideas into action.

“She is deeply religious,” Eamon confirmed.

“If she asked the Grand Cleric for a favor...” the bard suggested with the sweetest smile. “The Grand Cleric wouldn’t send away a caring mother seeking to protect her only son, would she?”

“Not if the caring mother donates a fortune to the Chantry every year,” Rori grinned. “Elemena cannot afford annoying Isolde.” She gave Leliana high-five.

“She’ll only send them away,” Zevran sulked, profoundly huffy that his services weren’t required. “They will cause harm some other place.”

“Am I not supposed to head up the royal expedition to find out more about the darkspawn and broodmothers?” Leliana chirped, her voice venomously sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay. There will be updates as soon as possible. Unfortunately (for this story) Alistair and Rori have decided to be very, very active in an alternate universe setting that has become part 3 of the series. They are "Seven Chapters in 15 days"-active and it seems they won't slow down anytime soon - which is a good thing because Part 3 will not be very much longer than 20 chapters (at least that's my plan and I do hope Alistair and Rori will stick to it.) Anyway, check out Part 3 and enjoy reading!


	13. It's a Kind of Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the new chapter. Sorry for the long wait. I hope it was worth waiting and you enjoy reading on.
> 
> Special thanks to absolutely awesome Ashley Reid who again made the effort to edit this chapter. *blows kisses*

Thick mist rose from the dark waters of the lake, the tower of mages rising from the fog like a skeleton finger, pale and cold. As the small boat drew closer the mist parted, revealing the black opening of the grot, a gaping hole like a monster's mouth opened to greedily swallow the pitiful young mages.

"It's not as terrible as it appears on first sight," I lied, shifting uneasily on my seat until Rori gently squeezed my hand. She was even more upset about the children's fate than me. The tower of mages had made her uneasy from the very first moment she had entered it. Sure, then it was crammed from first floor to the top with demons, blood mages, and abominations, but her feelings hadn't changed when introduced to the mages' everyday life. I had known before due to my templar training what it meant for a mage to be brought to the tower. But never before had it been a personal affair. Those mages I had accompanied for training, they had been strangers. These two kids I knew, if only briefly, and I couldn't help feeling utterly sorry for them.

And I had thought being dragged away to the monastery was terrible! Compared to what now awaited Connor and Amalia, the abbey suddenly lost its terror. Suddenly I felt quite foolish for having pampered my self-pity for more than ten years about my dreadful fate. Yeah, sometimes thinking outside the box gives you a whole new perspective.

"It's alright, your Majesty. I deserve to be punished," Connor replied sadly.

"Bullshit!" Rori snorted fiercely. "What happened in Redcliffe was an accident, Connor." My sentiments exactly. Connor was consumed by remorse and self-contempt, convinced his life wasn't worth living. Stripped of everything childlike, he would forever be haunted by his guilt. There was no worse punishment than the one he sentenced himself to.

"Accident or not, they are dead and it is my fault," Connor whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. Maker help this boy! I prayed one day he could forgive himself. His shoulders slumped, Connor sat at the bow of the boat, his face ashen, wearing an expression of raw hopelessness. He didn't react when his heartbroken father put his hand on his shoulder, but instead kept staring at the monster's mouth. Eamon had aged ten years plus ever since the tower had appeared in sight. He knew it was the right thing to do, and still it tore him apart. He had not been half as devastated when he had sent me away on behalf of his wife. Speaking of Isolde... Connor's mother hadn't come. She was torn between her love for her boy and the shame he brought on her for being a mage. Almost fanatically religious, Isolde regarded mages as dangerous freaks. That she had borne one of these creatures had not changed her view on mages, but had driven her to hide and suppress her son's true nature. Connor didn't understand that his mother was responsible for the catastrophe of the rise of the undead in Redcliffe. Sure, he was the mage, but he was also a child. Isolde claimed she had meant well... Maker! Beware of those meaning well! Too often their concern is a cover for their own interests.

At the stern, Amalia was clinging to her father, wide-eyed and scared out of her mind of what was to come. Her first encounter with templars had not helped with calming her down, and her magic was erupting from her involuntarily. Sweat was forming on my brow from the effort of constantly countering her magic with my templar skills. If she went on like that she would spent the night in a cell, separated from the other mages and under the templars' tight control. They would show her a tranquil and threaten they would turn her into such an empty shell, a ghost of herself. They would scare the frightened girl even more when what she needed most was a hug and some kind words. Wynne could provide both, but I wasn't sure whether Ser Greagoir would let her.

I was here to persuade Greagoir to allow the mages a little more freedom, a first step to make their lives better and prevent another rebellion. He was a reasonable man with foresight. There was a chance he would listen... I prayed he would for the sake of Connor and Amalia and of all the other mages.

The boat now approached the pier, the waves of the black water licking at its sides like demons' tongues. Two tall figures stood like statues at the landing stage, their faces hidden behind the ventails of their helmets, the flickering light of the torches at the wall dying their heavy armor blood red.

Connor jumped out of the boat—with the ease of a Redcliffe boy who had grown up at the shores of Lake Calenhad—without hesitation as soon as it was close enough to the pier. Barking short orders at Connor, the templars immediately shoved him against the wall, forced him into a spreadeagle position and none too gently searched him for forbidden objects before pushing the eleven year old boy to the ground to lie prone with his arms crossed behind his head. Eamon didn't like it a bit to see his son treated like a criminal.

"For the love of Andraste!" he exclaimed. "He is only a child!"

"A child who killed dozens of villagers," one of the templars replied, the sound of his voice, though muffled by his helmet, gave him away.

"Oh come on, Cullen!" Rori snapped furiously, her eyes blazing when she jumped out of the boat and came face to chest with the huge templar, poking her index finger at his chest plate forcefully with every word. "Don't be an ass! The kid gave you no reason at all to manhandle him!"

"You know nothing..." Cullen began angrily but was cut short at once.

"... about what happened when Uldred's rebellion started? I was there to save your sorry ass, remember?" Rori snapped, stepping so close that Cullen involuntarily retreated. "Most mages joined Uldred because they couldn't endure their imprisonment and suppression anymore. And if things don't change, this rebellion will only be the first of many. So, how about making their lives a little less terrible by treating them with common courtesy and a little bit of friendliness?"

Cullen opened his ventail and growled at Rori. Bad idea. This girl had once been a werewolf and I swear, ever since, though she was now completely human again, she had developed a somewhat animalistic ferocity. She just growled back at him, all teeth bared, and stared him down until Cullen looked away uneasily. "You shouldn't meddle in affairs you don't know anything about," the templar grunted. "It's none of your business. I don't tell you how to treat darkspawn, so don’t tell me how to treat mages. What do you want here anyway—again?"

"First official visit," I informed him, finally gaining his attention—the only reason why he missed Rori muttering "Jerk!" and rolling her eyes at him.

"Your Majesty," Cullen mumbled, sounding none too happy to see me, and bowed properly though rather stiffly. His companion followed suit after Cullen elbowed him. "I will send word to Knight-Commander..." he spat out the title of his boss with contempt. "... Greagoir as soon as we have the situation here under control."

"A situation consisting of two little kids. Good luck, Cullen." Rori commented sarcastically. Cullen glowered at her with icy contempt before turning to Amalia still cowering in the boat.

"Cullen!" I laid my hand on his arm. "The girl is frightened. The templars who caught her mistreated her badly. She has no control over her magic when in panic. Please..."

Cullen shook off my hand, not willing to listen any longer. "You do your job, your Majesty, and I’ll do mine," he growled, pushing past me. "You! Get out! Now!" Cullen bellowed at the frightened little girl, staring at him wide eyed. Just awesome! What about 'be gentle' was so hard to understand?

Amalia, of course, didn't move. She started crying and clung to her father as if her life depended on him. Only the ferryman fled onto the shore. Smart move. It's never a good thing to find yourself caught in between a mage and a templar.

"Cullen, this won't work. She'll never climb out of that boat when you shout at her. Maybe I should talk to her..." I tried once more but was ignored.

"Get out now or I'll drag you out," he threatened, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"You just have such a way with little children, Cullen," Rori mocked. I wish she'd shut her big mouth for once. I mean, it's usually my job to put my foot in my mouth—and I'm incredibly good at it—but this time even I figured riling up Cullen wouldn't do any good.

And yep, Cullen's reaction came instantly. He pulled his sword half out of its sheath to show it to Amalia. "Get out! Last warning!" he snapped at the child. Amalia shook her head. Crawling as far away from the templar at the pier as possible, hiding behind her father.

"Can't you see, she's scared!" Mattias now interfered angrily. Beckoning Amalia to stay where she was, he approached the templars on the pier. "You scare her! Maybe if you stepped back I could talk to her..."

"Do you think we have all day to waste our time on some filthy little mage bitch?" the second templar now shrieked. Oh joy! Caroll, the epitome of reason and common sense! He jumped into the boat, shoving wounded Mattias aside and into the lake when he stepped in between the templar and the girl.

Doom!

DOOOOOOOOOOM!

Everything happened at once now. Amalia screamed when the dark waves crashed above her father's head, her magic erupted at the same time, turning her scream into a shock wave that sent everybody down. Mattias flailed helplessly in the deep water, crying for help before the waves swallowed him and he sank like a stone. Amalia screamed and screamed, the force of her panic crushing against the walls of the grot, shaking the rock above our heads. Small stones rained down on us as the ceiling of the cave cracked. Carroll was thrown out of balance, tumbling backwards in the heavily careening boat. Caught by surprise by the sudden eruption of magic, Rori, Eamon, Cullen and I were crashed against the wall, the impact pushing the air out of my lungs. Sinking to the ground, stars dancing in front of my eyes, I took refuge in my templar training and cleared my mind, ignoring the pressure on my chest and the burning in my lungs. Then, with utmost concentration, I gathered the power of my templar skills to purify the area of any magic...

I was still warming up when Cullen lashed out with extreme force, shattering Amalia's involuntary spell. He jumped back to his feet with ease despite his heavy armor, drew his weapon and ran for the boat while I was still scrambling around on the ground. Blasted overachiever!

Rori was even faster. Like a jack-in-the-box, she catapulted herself off the ground and rushed past Cullen, throwing herself off the pier and into the water where Mattias had sunken, while I—finally on my feet—rushed after the templar to stop him from picking Amalia apart. Eamon crawled to where Connor was still lying on the ground, paralyzed.

Carroll came back to his feet just when I tackled Cullen. We both crashed to the ground, Cullen kicking and cursing at me. Meanwhile, Carroll attacked Amalia, sword raised over her head with the intent to kill her. The child screamed and lunged forward. The blade stuck in the wooden bench where the girl had sat only a heartbeat ago. Amalia scrambled through the gap between Carroll's spread legs and when the templar bent to catch her, the boat careened again and Carroll toppled into the water.

There was no flailing, no cry for help. Carroll sunk like a stone. Even the best templar cannot swim in heavy armor. And while he went down, Rori surfaced on the other side of the boat with the lifeless form of Mattias in her arms. I let go of Cullen to pull Mattias onto the pier, and the templar chased after Amalia, knocking her out with one well-aimed blow. I had to tackle him again to prevent him from killing the girl while Rori rhythmically pressed down Mattias's chest and blew air into his mouth. Eamon uselessly cowered over Connor and shouted at us to stop while I was wrestling with an angry templar. Thanks for the help, old man!

Alarmed by the ferryman, Knight Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving, followed by several templars, burst into the grot to witness Ser Cullen of Honnleath and King Alistair of Ferelden scuffling around on the ground while Arl Eamon scolded us like little boys and told us to behave. Rori, in the meantime, had brought Mattias back to life and jumped into the lake after poor Carroll, diving for him uselessly. Greagoir demanded to know what was going on and that was when Connor, in his fear, lost control over his magic and another outburst of uncontrolled power flooded the room, sending everybody running like headless chickens. Then, suddenly, Carroll was thrown out of the water as if the lake itself had spat him out like something inedible.

He landed in between the gathered templars who were busy knocking out and tying up two children. His sudden appearance had us all freeze and eye the lake with suspicion and worry. There was a movement in the water, the waves crashed against the shore when something huge and heavy rose from the surface. A large angular head with gleaming eyes appeared. "I cannot even take a walk under water without squishy smelly things landing on my head," Shale complained sullenly. "Didn't anybody ever teach you flesh creatures not to drop your waste into the water?"

Ten minutes later, Cullen, Rori and I were sitting in the Knight Commander's office in front of his very large, very tidy desk like three brattish students waiting for the headmaster. The children were both locked away and under surveillance. Wynne was with Amalia to soothe and calm her down while Eamon took care of Connor. Carroll and Mattias had been brought to the hospital ward. Shale? Really, I didn't know, but she was certainly getting up to some stone creature nonsense. Rori to my left was wrapped up in a blanket, steam rising from the mug of hot tea in her hands. On the other side, Cullen was pressing a moist cloth to his bleeding nose while I held a cooling aid to my swollen black eye. My two fellow sufferers were bickering across me without pause while I only wished for silence and peace and a place to rest my head.

"Greagoir won't kill them! Of course!" Cullen complained bitterly. "If you hadn't meddled with templar affairs, they both would be dead already. A danger foreseen is a danger avoided—that's what I keep telling Greagoir. And they are dangerous! They are killers! But nobody ever listens to me until it is too late!"

"How about you listen to yourself once in a while?" Rori advised acidly, her teeth still clattering from having spent too much time in the icy water. She sneezed and wiped her nose on her blanket. "Perhaps you then would realize what bullshit you babble all day long! They are children! What happened at the pier is not their fault!"

"They attacked us!" Cullen barked in a nasal voice. "They are uncontrollable monsters, an abnormality that has to be wiped out for the sake of mankind!"

"Oh, and you are so much better than them, I take it? All that happened at the pier happened because you fucked up!" Rori informed the templar, flipping him the bird in the process.

"I only did my job!" Cullen hissed, half-bending across me to properly glower at Rori. "You have no training in dealing with dangerous mages. How dare you criticize me?"

"Well, let's see. As far as I recall, Alistair was trying to tell you Amalia was scared and that you should handle her carefully. He even offered to help you but you would not listen. The kid was mortally terrified already, but you threatened her even more, and that's when all hell broke loose," Rori snapped. "You fucked up, Cullen. Fact!"

"Nobody ever understands me," Cullen whined. "Greagoir, the new templars, you—you all have not endured what I had to endure. You have not seen what I saw, have not felt what I felt—the agony, the horror, the despair... We cannot allow mages more freedom. We have to control them, best kill them all. We still cannot be sure there are no demons hiding in those who survived Uldred's so-called rebellion. They appear harmless, but I know! I know! I know what they can become, what they are capable of! It haunts me in my dreams and when I open my eyes the horror is still there..." He groaned loudly, covering his face with his hands as he bent forward in his chair, thus smearing his face with the blood still dripping from his nose. "My brothers died... and still you defend the monsters responsible!"

"Connor and Amalia weren't even here when your brothers died!" Rori exclaimed in exasperation. "Many mages fought Uldred and tried to defend the templars! They, too, died alongside your brothers!" She inhaled deeply to calm herself down and with much effort, forced her voice to a gentler tone. "Yes, you suffered, and nobody can ever truly know or even imagine what you went through. But, Cullen, you were about to kill two children today!"

"Templars are there to protect. They have to do whatever is necessary to protect," Cullen muttered under his breath.

"That also includes the mages," I reminded him tiredly. Maker, my head was killing me! "Templars aren't supposed to be their jailors and hangmen. We are here to protect them, too. That's what we were taught, remember?"

"Theory and reality often don't fit together," Cullen muttered bitterly. "It's impossible when you don't know who you can trust."

"Then we have to change things," Rori insisted. The way the Chantry handled the templar-mages affair was bound to give the templars all the power and make them the oppressors. There was no way for a mage to defend themselves against any templar decision or attack. They were living in constant fear of drawing the wrong kind of attention and never raised their voices when being mistreated or violated. The dark figure of those killed or made tranquil when their only crime had been to displease the templars was for sure higher than anybody dared to imagine—not that anybody cared.

Don't get me wrong, I realized mages were dangerous, a force of their own that had to be controlled for the sake of... well, everybody including the mages themselves. I had met my share of crazy, evil and possessed mages—and a whole lot more who were just nice people trying to get by without causing any harm. I didn't take this lightly, no matter what Cullen thought. I still was too much a templar after all.

"You want a change? I tell you the only way is to show no mercy. We cannot afford regarding mages as human beings!" Cullen retorted heatedly. He stared at Rori and me with bloodshot eyes. Rori furiously stared back, I shook my head. I would never be able to do what Cullen demanded of me. He quickly came to the correct conclusion. "You won't listen. I know you won't. Nobody ever does until it is too late." Everything about the templar screamed unfit for service. He needed a break, he needed help. When we had met him again after the rebellion, he had seemed quite balanced—as if he had recovered from the assault. He had even kinda asked us to save his love Solona Amell from being made tranquil. He had changed ever since, a great deal. What we saw here was a man at the edge of a mental breakdown.

Knight-Commander Greagoir reeked of his weariness. Tiredly he rubbed his face when he took his seat behind his desk. For a minute, nobody said a word. He just regarded us silently. Sighing deeply, he then first apologized: "Please accept my apology, your Majesty. Ser Cullen’s actions are in no way excusable..." He shot a look at the unfortunate young templar, its sharpness colored by the worry in his eyes. "... to attack the king..." Greagoir shook his head in disbelief. "I will suspend Ser Cullen from office and hand him over to you for trial..."

"WHAT!?" Cullen shouted, knocking over his chair when he rose, menacingly leaning across the table to give his boss a piece of his mind. "After all I went through! After what I did for the order! I gave you my life! I did my duty! I almost died! I... I..."

Greagoir didn't move. He just sternly locked eyes with the upset knight. Cullen started to stammer, then fell silent and, defeated, slumped back in his chair, burying his face in his hands. "Ser Cullen! You bring shame on the order and on yourself!" Greagoir said in a calm but forceful voice, every inch the Knight-Commander of Kinloch-Hold. "I will not tolerate such behavior!"

"Yes, Knight Commander," Cullen muttered, hanging his head, his cheeks burning crimson with—I don't know. Was it embarrassment or anger? Maybe both.

"My apologies, your Majesty—again. Now, what do you wish to do with Ser Cullen?"

"There will be no trial. I already have decided," I said earnestly, lifting my hand to beckon Greagoir to sit down again when the Knight Commander half rose from his chair, startled by my words. "It's not what you think! Maker! I'm not a tyrant! A fool, yes. Sometimes a bit slow in thinking and I can't really get used to all this king business... I travel with a portable throne. Can you even imagine? We need one pack horse just for that thing!" Rori started to giggle, Greagoir hid his grin behind his hand. Yeah... I have that effect. "And I babble too much... like, err, right now.... Anyway... I do not intend to punish Ser Cullen. And please, do not suspend him. He is a templar, heart and soul. He has gone through much, and I think he needs help and some time off. Perhaps it would be best to transfer him to... I don't know... just some place far away from Kinloch Hold. There are too many terrible memories here for him. He needs to stand back from what happened here to recover. That's impossible when he's confronted with the tragedy every day."

"Wisely spoken, your Majesty," Ser Greagoir said with relief and pride. "Ferelden is lucky to have a king such as you."

"Really?" I asked, unconvinced. "Would you write that down so I can show it to Anora next time I meet her?"

"And now you believe you have done me a favor, don't you, your Majesty?" Cullen snorted with contempt when he rose from his chair. "Well, thank you so very much, your Majesty," he added sarcastically. "I hope I get to leave this country because I don't want to be here when your stupid compassion leads to the inevitable catastrophe. Mark my words!" He slammed the door shut when he left.

"Charming!" Rori mumbled. "Now, didn't we come here to discuss the situation of the mages and the templars? Onward! We are headed for an inevitable catastrophe!"

Our little council consisted of Greagoir, Irving, Wynne, the Circle's Revered Mother Claire—yeah, the Chantry cares for its flock, even for the black sheep amongst them, so the Circle has its own chapel—Rori and myself. Eamon was still occupied with helping Connor to get settled in. He had been eager to take part, and for once, completely supported my ideas for improving the lives of mages.

"This meeting is ill-fated," the Revered Mother began when all were gathered. "After the incident today when the two young mages were brought in, I don't see how you want to convince the Grand Cleric to agree to allow the mages more freedom."

"Uldred's rebellion showed we cannot oppress them forever. They will fight back eventually. It is even more likely now as word will spread about the rebellion," I pointed out. "And as for the Grand Cleric—we’ve got the law on our side!"

Irving frowned. "How so?" he inquired. "When has a law ever protected mages?"

"I've studied the Chantry law considering the role of templars and mages before we departed from Denerim..." Rori stared at me incredulously. "What? I did study it! Remember that large tome? The one you keep using as a stool? It's Chantry law and I did read it whenever you didn't sit around on it. Anyway... Chantry law states templars are meant to protect the mages. But what we have here is a prison. The mages have no rights. Mages all over Thedas—well, save for Tevinter—are at the mercy of the templars guarding them. They cannot defend themselves against any assault. There's no one they can turn to for justice. I believe this is the first thing we have to change. We need a system of... checks and balances, an independent council both mages and templars can turn to if they have been done wrong. I know as I have been trained as a templar myself that their life and job is not easy. Still, they, too, should have to answer for their crimes."

"This would damage the image of the templar order," Claire protested. "Are there really so many crimes committed against mages? Templars are knights following a strict code of honor!"

"Yes, that's the theory, that honor and faith would guide the templars to do what is right. But men like Ser Percy, Ser Garth and Ser Linus only follow their own code. I very much doubt they even know how to spell honor," I retorted gloomily and after telling the Revered Mother how the trio had behaved towards Amalia and her father, Claire had to admit that they were neither honorable nor true knights.

"Mages could use that right to slander templars," Greagoir remarked. "It would put more pressure on the templars."

"There should be an independent prosecutor to investigate a case when an accusation is made," Rori suggested. "Nobody will get judged just because someone points their finger at them."

"And what if your council isn't sure? There won't always be enough evidence to come to a just decision." Greagoir still wasn't convinced.

Rori shrugged. "In dubio pro reo," she said, then turning to me added with a wide grin: "See, I didn't only sit around on that tome."

"A council also should decide whether a mage should be executed or made tranquil," Wynne suggested. "Knight-Commander Greagoir is an honorable, wise and just man. He consults First Enchanter Irving before making such a grave decision. But he doesn't have to. We are all lucky to have a Knight Commander like him. But times could change and we all live with the fear of things to come."

"Agreed," I said. "The council should consist of templars, priestesses, nobles—and mages. I strongly believe we have to allow the mages some co-determination. They should be involved in the decisions about their lives."

"I get how you want to sell the whole council idea to the Grand Cleric by reading of the law. I'm not convinced it will work, but I understand what you intend," Irving croaked. "But stick me in a dress and call me Sally if there's anything about co-determination in that tome of yours!"

And all eyes on King Alistair! Too bad King Alistair didn't have a clue how he wanted to convince Elemena of agreeing to any of the improvements we had talked about. Improvements that should only mark the beginning of a new era. I wasn't on best terms with the Grand Cleric. My coronation day had become my doomsday in my relationship with the Grand Cleric. You think things cannot get worse and then you pee into a vase in a chapel and get caught and just to top it all off, your drunken brother-in-law hands the Arling of Amaranthine to your club instead of the Chantry. That's not exactly the best starting basis for a deal. And using Isolde's influence would work once for getting rid of the trio infernale Percy, Garth and Linus, but certainly not for the revolutionary plans I had with the mages. I had been so excited about how I could help and what I would do that I missed on the most essential part of my plans: How to put them into action.

Quickly I skimmed through all my Chantry contacts in my mind, anybody who owed me a favor and could possibly have some influence on the Grand Cleric. Ser Irmenric, the templar Rori and I had rescued from Arl Howe's dungeon... The Revered Mother of Redcliffe... Brother Genitivi... And suddenly I had an epiphany!

Haha! It was so easy! Why hadn't I seen this earlier? That's what you call missing the forest for the trees. I had so concentrated on the law that I had not even realized the easiest way to convince the Grand Cleric of... everything! I wouldn't even owe Isolde a favor because Elemena would hand over the trio infernale happily! Percy, Garth and Linus didn't yet know, but they were already headed for the Deep Roads.

Oh happy day!

"Well, First Enchanter Sally..." I laughed, then shook my head at Irving's shocked and surprised expression, "No, just kidding! See, I don't really need that law as long as I have Haven. Haha, it just occurred to me. It really is that easy! Haven is part of my kingdom, and with it Andraste's ashes. The Grand Cleric wants that area for the Chantry, and I'm pretty sure she would just do anything for it. So," I busily rubbed my hands together, “anything you want on your wish list? Sweet buns every Sunday? A new dress for the First Enchanter? A karaoke night once a month? You name it, I'll make it happen!"

...

"Now, let's see what's on our list," I rummaged in my pocket for Rori's and mine Kinloch-Hold-to-do-list as soon as we left Greagoir's office. "Making sure the trio infernale won't do harm anymore to mages—check. Improvements for the mages—check. Irving said he would have the documents about Maric's visit to the Circle twenty years ago brought to my quarters—check. So, what's left is Solona's letter for Cullen. Do you need me with you when you give it to him, Rori?"

"Yes, I need you to keep me from biting his head off!" Rori muttered, pulling a face. "What is wrong with him? I mean, I know what is wrong... but I still don't get how he could so completely lose it today!"

We followed Greagoir down the dark corridor towards the templar quarters. Cullen had been given his own room, although he was not yet a senior templar. I guess Greagoir showing us the way personally was due to his uneasy conscience. He worried and cared a lot about Cullen. Wynne was right: Ser Greagoir was a wise, just and honorable man.

"The new templars did not respond to Cullen's claim to kill the remaining mages," Greagoir explained. "And though they first showed sympathy, his ongoing mourning unnerved them after a while. They cannot even imagine Cullen's suffering. It all led to his isolation, both because he retreated and they excluded him, and I am afraid being left alone brooding didn't do him any good. I should have taken better care of him, but with the Circle in ruins..." The Knight Commander shrugged. "He still is a good man, though he has gone astray. When I finally realized the seriousness of his condition, he was already beyond reach. Now only he can remedy himself. The man you saw today, that's not Cullen, and I pray one day he will find the strength inside him to become himself again." By now we had reached Cullen's room. "Don't judge him by his words," Greagoir put in a word for Cullen. "I should have sent him away a long time ago. I hope now is not too late." Thus said, the Knight Commander left us alone.

"Duh," Rori sighed. "Now I feel bad for having been so mean towards Cullen. What he did at the pier wasn't right, but I could have handled it a bit more... diplomatically. Oh well, can't be undone. Let's give him that letter. Maybe it’ll cheer him up a bit."

"You couldn't just slip the letter under the door?" I suggested. I didn't really want another confrontation with Cullen. I mean, I felt sympathy for him, but I didn't really know how to help him. And I very much doubted anything could cheer him up, least of all a letter from his mage-crush. So it was quite pointless to pester him, right?

"It's not really a letter..." Rori pulled a large thick envelope from her backpack.

"Maker! What's that? Has she written a book?"

Rori giggled. "The secret life of Solona Amell."

"Cute Curly Cullen—the love of my life by Solona Amell." I snickered.

"The templar temptation."

"My cully Cullen—bff."

Suddenly the door was thrown open and a rather sore templar in a templar-purple gown appeared in the frame. "I can hear you, you know," Cullen snapped sullenly. "It's so entertaining to make fun of me, isn't it?"

"Have you been born without any sense of humor, or did it get surgically removed later in life?" Rori shot back. "Relax, Cullen. We didn't make fun of you. We made fun of Solona." She grinned and winked, earning herself a grumpy grunt. "Anyway, here's her letter for you."

Cullen suspiciously eyed the envelope in her hand.

"It doesn't bite, I promise."

"I... I shouldn't take it..." He nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

"Why not?" Rori asked, puzzled.

"Nothing should cloud my mind, nothing should have me waver in my determination..."

"Cullen, take the letter and you get a piece of advice and a hug for free," Rori offered with a wide smile. She sounded like a used carriage dealer.

"From you?" Cullen snorted, arms crossed in front of his chest defiantly.

"From a person who lost everything she had and went through hell and back again," Rori replied earnestly.

"No thanks!"

"Alright, then how about this: We'll camp in front of your door until you take the letters."

Cullen snatched the package from her hand. "But I won't read it!" he declared stubbornly. "I will burn..." The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a muffled cry of surprise when Rori flung her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. "Let go of me!"

"I did promise you a free hug, didn't I?" Rori grinned.

"One I didn't want," the templar complained. "You are a terrible nuisance. I really don't understand how you endure her, your Majesty."

"Oh, you know, I'm a terrible nuisance myself," I laughed, ruffling my little imp's red curls. "Birds of a feather flock together."

"Don't say that out loud near Shale. She's likely to turn us into nuisance squish," Rori giggled.

"All of a sudden I am warming up to the golem," Cullen mumbled.

"Oh wow, Cullen! That was a joke! Congratulations! You win another free hug!"

"Stop harassing me!" Cullen growled when Rori wrapped her arms around him again.

"It's like hugging a tree," she observed. "Stiff and starchy. Perhaps you need a massage? I know an elf who is quite skilled..."

"NO!" Cullen roared, desperately looking at me for help. I did him the favor and plucked Rori off him.

"And now the piece of advice," Rori chirped, beaming brightly at the annoyed templar.

"What about 'I don't want it' is so hard to get?" Cullen asked unnervedly.

Rori was in no way impressed by his unwillingness. "Cullen, you believe you are all alone in this world, that you have lost all your friends in that battle. You retreat to your shell, choosing isolation to protect yourself from harm. It will drive you crazy and you know it."

"You are driving me crazy!" Cullen exclaimed in exasperation. "Why don't you just leave me alone?"

Rori completely ignored him, pointing at the letter in Cullen's hand. "These are from the one friend you still have. She'll be there if only you let her. Write to her. A problem shared is a problem halved, you know." Once her speech was over she stood there, expectantly regarding the templar.

"What? What more do you want?" Cullen groaned.

"You will write to her, right?" Rori asked innocently.

"I hate writing letters. I don't even write to my sister!"

"Awesome!" Rori acted as if Cullen hadn't said anything at all. "And of course we will take your letter with us when we leave tomorrow."

"What the...!" Cullen gasped. "I just said..."

"You don't have any letter paper? Here, you can use mine. And a quill. Ink." Rori pulled the items from her backpack and dumped all three in the pocket of Cullen's gown. "I'll come and fetch it before we leave. Good night, Cullen. Sweet dreams. Rest well. Buenos noches! Bonne nuit!"

"Just leave!" Cullen pressed through gritted teeth. Suddenly I wasn't worried anymore about Rori biting off _his_ head. Quite the contrary. So I linked arms with my beloved nuisance and dragged her out of the danger zone before Cullen could explode.

"I thought you wanted to be nice," I said when we both rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight and ear shot.

"I was nice!" Rori protested. "Extremely nice. That he doesn't get it is not my fault."

The next day before dawn there was a sharp knock on our door. Rori pulled the blanket over her head, uncovering me in the process, turned to the other side and just kept snoring softly. I laid there in the cold, clutching my pillow and willed the disturber to go away.

Knock-knock.

"Urgh! Room service?" I called out sleepily.

"What? No, it's Cullen!" a deep voice was heard from the other side of the door. "Room service! Spoiled noble bastard!"

Grunting I rolled out of bed, grabbed the first piece of clothing I could get hold of and, still half-asleep, stumbled towards the door, opening it for the templar. Cullen was taken aback by my appearance, he stared at me completely flabbergasted. Well, who had he thought would open that door? The Maker himself?

"What is it?" I grunted, trying to hold the blasted gown I had squeezed myself into together.

"You are wearing a pink gown with white bunnies, your Majesty," Cullen pointed out.

I followed his gaze down my front, first time noticing the silken nightmare of a gown that hardly reached to my knees. "Blast, that's Rori's. And I already wondered why the damn thing fit so tightly." I muttered, turning a brighter shade of crimson as I clutched the gown tighter to at least cover the essential parts.

"She has... exquisite taste," Cullen remarked dryly.

"It was a gift," I hurried to explain. Oghren had given it to Rori for her birthday. "But, um, you certainly haven't come here in the middle of the night to admire my... um... attire?"

"Yes, no, I mean, the letter..." Cullen stammered, blushing deeply as he lamely waved the sealed envelope in front of my nose.

"You wrote to Solona?" I exclaimed, utterly surprised that he had actually made the effort.

"Yes, and I... I..." He coughed, shifted his weight uneasily and rubbed the back of his neck. "I first thought I didn't have much to say..."

I arched an eyebrow. It was a quite thick envelope. Not as voluminous as Solona's, but still...

"Um, well, I was mistaken and... I now see that maybe sometimes my reactions are a bit... extreme," Cullen mumbled, unable to look me straight in the eyes.

"Just a little bit, Cullen," I grinned. "Just a little bit."


	14. Ghosts of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Ashley Reid for making the effort to edit this rather lengthy chapter.
> 
> Major spoiler concerning The Stolen Throne ahead.

“What do you mean, you cannot find them?” I asked with disappointment and irritation.

Irving squirmed uncomfortably, wringing his hands. “I didn't actually say we could not find them. The documents concerning Maric's visit to the tower, they are... lost.”

“Yes, that's the nature of things one cannot find,” I pointed out unnervedly. “And as far as I remember, the best way to handle such situations is to search for whatever is lost.”

“They are not really lost... they are... destroyed—as far as we know.”

“As far as you know. So there still could be something somewhere?”

“The archives are filled with thousands of documents, your Majesty. Where should we start to look for the lost ones? We don't even know if they are still there...”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but shouldn't there be a register listing every visitor and the documents they removed from the archives?” Rori paused in scanning the titles of Irving's books, searching for anything that could possibly be of interest to Avernus. No matter what Rori said, I wasn't convinced anything good would come from his research. There was no arguing with Rori about that matter, though. Where Avernus gave me the creeps, he gave her hope. As it was between trusting Avernus or inevitably turning into a ghoul within the next ten years, I could somewhat relate to her attitude when it came to the old geezer. Still, years of training as a templar did have some influence, at least on my opinion when it came to crazy old bloodmages.

Irving coughed nervously. “Indeed, indeed, we do have a register...” More squirming, more wringing hands, more nervous coughing.

“But?” I asked.

“The archivist of course searched the register at once...”

“Yes?”

“Someone tore out a page from the register,” Irving admitted unhappily.

Rori and I looked at each other at the same time. “Why would anybody steal or destroy these documents that—by Maric's order—were only to be revealed to the king himself or those personally authorized by him?” Rori voiced my thoughts.

“And why were they sealed first place?” I added. “What's so secret and important about that visit?”

“You've been there, twenty years ago, Irving,” Rori said pointedly.

“It's been such a long time,” the First Enchanter said evasively as he sunk into his armchair behind his desk, rubbing his heavily furrowed brow. When he looked up he found Rori and me staring at him expectantly.

“The sooner you tell us the sooner we are gone and you have your study all for yourself again,” Rori said sweetly.

Irving heaved a sigh of pure exasperation. “I remember his Majesty arrived in the company of Grey Wardens... from Orlais,” he finally said hesitantly. “The First Enchanter back then was Remille, a mage from Orlais.”

“An Orlesian mage performed as First Enchanter of the Fereldan Circle?” Rori snorted. “Why didn't anybody replace him after the war?”

Irving shrugged. “Kingdoms usually aren't in their best condition after a war,” he pointed out.

“You don't say!” I muttered.

“Anyway, nobody replaced Remille. I assume Maric decided to leave the mage problem to the Chantry. I recall we all had to assemble in the hall to welcome the king and the Wardens. I don't really remember much more. Remille's speeches used to be incredibly lengthy and boring. If not for the king and the Grey Wardens, I would probably not remember a thing from that gathering.” He paused thoughtfully, his frown suddenly wiped away when he chuckled at his memory. “The mage traveling with them, she had sass.” He smacked his lips appreciatively. “An elf, tiny but with a sharp tongue. Pretty in her ferocity...”

“Err... yes... but what were they here for?” I hurried to interrupt him. This all sounded far too much like the beginning of the kind of stuff Zev would talk about. Out loud. In public. Especially in public. “The Grey Wardens were exiled at that time. How did the king come to travel with them?” I asked, pacing the room impatiently while Rori behind Irving's back stuck her nose—and hands—into things that certainly weren't any of her business. I gestured frantically when she picked the lock of a cabinet with skilled ease and pulled something that looked like a mummified hand from its depths. Never mess around with the stuff of a mage, templar rule No. 1.

“Is something wrong, your Majesty?” Irving asked, puzzled by my pantomimic try to stop Rori from doing something stupid. She only grinned at me impishly, then, all of a sudden, displayed an expression of shock when the mummy hand shot forward towards her neck. With a squeak I leapt forward, tapping my templar powers to defend her against any evil magic when I realized she was only goofing around.

“Err... no... just a... a fly,” I muttered, swatting at the imaginative insect as I sank onto one of the chairs in front of Irving's desk.

“To answer your question: I believe they wanted to travel to the Deep Roads,” Irving went on, unaware of Rori feigning mummy hand attacks behind his back. I did my best to glare daggers at her and to suppress the urge to laugh. I failed miserably at both.

“What? Maric went with them? Why?” I gasped in utter disbelief when Irving's words sunk in. I even forgot about glowering at Rori. She put the hand back into the cabinet and now fumbled around with some canned body parts.

“Yes, I think he did. Remille gave him potions to protect him from the taint. I really don't know any details. But several weeks later, Teyrn Loghain charged the tower with dozens of soldiers...”

“WHAT!?” I squeaked, jumping off my chair I bent over the desk, hands firmly placed on the tabletop, and looked Irving straight into the eyes. “Why? Why would Loghain come here with soldiers?”

Irving shook his head sadly. “There was a fight. Orlesians, mages and soldiers dressed up as templars, had taken control over the tower. It turned out First Enchanter Remille was a traitor. We were all herded together and locked up. I managed to send a raven before they came for me. I can only assume that's what alarmed Loghain and got me promoted to First Enchanter after Remille's death.”

“But... but... I've never heard of any of that!” I exclaimed. Rori was so surprised by Irving's revelation she almost dropped a jar filled with... Ewwww!... eyeballs.

“It was kept a secret,” Irving confirmed. “The country had only just been freed from the Orlesian usurper. Loghain swept it all under the rug to cover up Ferelden's weakness and to prevent a war they could never have won. Maric would have been forced to react, you understand? A king cannot sit around idly and twiddle his thumbs when a foreign power invades the national circle.”

“But what about Maric and the Grey Wardens?” I inquired..

“Maric was present at the tower during the fight. So were some of the Grey Wardens. I had not noticed their return. No surprise since I was locked up in the dungeons at that time. Not many Wardens survived. One of those who did later became the Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden.”

“Duncan,” I breathed. I suddenly was feeling quite dizzy.

“Yes, that was his name. I have heard he died at Ostagar. It's a pity. He was a good man,” Irving said with sympathy.

“Yes, he was one of the best,” I confirmed automatically. “He did so much for me. He was like... the father I never had.” Although lately I had begun to wonder if this special bond I believed to share with Duncan was no more than my imagination. Irving's story revealed Maric and Duncan and several other Grey Wardens had traveled to the Deep Roads together—a detail Duncan had missed to tell me when admitting he had known my father. I had asked him about Maric and all I got for a reply was that he had worked as an advisor for the king in questions concerning the darkspawn. He called him a good king, a great man, a wise leader and whatever other platitudes people use to describe Maric. Never had Duncan said anything like: “Well, let me tell you about that one time when your dad and I went to the Deep Roads together...” It was one of so many secrets he had kept, one of so many things he had decided to let me find out by myself in time—or never. What had they been searching for in the Deep Roads? Why had Maric come with them? Kings had other things to do than to crawl around in the Deep Roads. I knew that by now first hand. I wouldn't call it better things, but it was more than enough to keep a man occupied. So, what had caused Maric to join them? Were the Grey Wardens involved in the Orlesian coup? What role had Duncan played? Irving had raised more questions than he had answered. I felt a tinge of bitterness, a slowly growing anger directed at Duncan and a surge of guilt that I even dared to criticize him. I felt as if I didn't know Duncan anymore. Perhaps I had never truly known him at all.

Rori gently squeezed my shoulder. When I craned my neck to offer a meek smile in return I saw she still held the canned eyeballs in her other hand. “He certainly had his reasons for never telling you anything,” she whispered gently. “Some of those we totally don't understand but... um... he probably meant well. Kinda.”

“There has to be more information somewhere,” I insisted. I was sick and tired of all the missing answers in my life. Everything about my existence seemed questionable. “Contemporary witnesses, documents, diary entries...”

“It's been twenty years,” Irving pointed out tiredly. “Maric, Loghain, Duncan—everybody involved is dead by now. It certainly can't be of any importance anymore.”

For a moment I was tempted to accept his explanation. It wasn't of any importance. That's why Duncan hadn't told me. Now we had come to a dead end there was no need to dig any further. I could have possibly convinced myself, but never Rori. The glittering in her eyes, the frown she wore, the slightly pouted lips... Nope, no way she would give up now. Maker bless her!

“How about you show us the way to the archives so we can see for ourselves if there's something to find down there?” Rori suggested. “And once we return, we’ll want to talk to any witness you can find.”

“Wynne and I are the only ones left of the old generation. Time and Uldred's rebellion took their toll,” Irving grumbled as he heaved himself out of the chair, snatched the eyeball jar Rori was shaking curiously out of her hands and carefully returned it to the cabinet. Rori grinned sheepishly but Irving had dealt with too many mage apprentices in his time to fall for faked innocence. “Hands off! I don't care if you are a hero or queen or the reincarnation of Andraste herself, next time I catch you rummaging through my things I will turn you into a frog,” he scolded her then shooed us out of his study to lead us to the archives deep down in the bowels of the tower.

“Awesome!” I huffed. “Suddenly I wish I hadn't killed Loghain. He could have disclosed a secret or two. He could have made a difference up there at the tower of Fort Drakon. A mighty big difference.” But I had killed him because of my thirst for vengeance—and because I didn't know anything about the nature of Grey Wardens, about how to kill an archdemon, about anything important since Duncan had never seen it fit to enlighten me! Maker's Breath! If I had known any of what I had found out just in time by myself beforehand, Rori and I could have possibly decided to recruit Loghain and he could have sacrificed himself and Rori wouldn't have lost the baby and wouldn't morph into a ghoul within the next ten years... For the first time ever since I had met Duncan I was hopping mad at him—and that’s saying something. I hadn't even been mad after the Joining when he had made me gulp down a goblet filled to the rim with poison.

“Duncan thought he would be there to watch over you. He thought he would be the one to make the sacrifice,” Rori whispered, slipping her hand into mine. “He wanted to protect you—just like a father would have.” She tried, really she did, and I very much appreciated her effort. Still, she didn't sound convinced by her own words the way she pressed them through gritted teeth. By the look on her face, her thoughts traveled down the same road as mine. No surprise. She had never accepted her fate as a Grey Warden without questioning it.

I, however, had been thankful, happy actually, to be welcomed into the fellowship of the Grey Wardens. I had felt at home there, accepted, cherished and part of something greater than myself. I had accepted the secrets, believing they would be revealed as I proved myself worthy. The Grey Wardens had seemed so different from the templar order to me back then. Now I began to see more and more similarities. This hurtful realization turned my world upside down. My fault. I should have known it couldn't be so easy, black and white, evil and good. Everywhere everything was always a myriad of different shades of grey. Hindsight is easier than foresight, right?

We had reached a huge set of heavy double doors, plastered with no smoking and no open fire signs. Irving opened them with a beckon of his staff. “Here we are. I don't know what you hope to find down here. If you ask my opinion, it's a waste of time, Anyway, good luck,” the First Enchanter muttered breathlessly, then, with a loud sigh turned towards the long set of stairs leading upwards. “When you see Dagna again, tell her I changed my mind about the stair lift. It can't be more life-threatening than to climb all those stairs all over the tower in my advanced age.”

Passing through the doors, I realized we needed more than just good luck to find what we were looking for. The archives occupied a vast hall, rows of shelves upon shelves on several stories, connected by ladders and chain bridges almost touched the ceiling high above our heads. It smelled of dust and mold, small balls of lurid magical light floated in between the seemingly rickety construction.

A counter consisting of several desks and brightly illuminated by magical light, sat right in front of the shelves. A slender figure rose from her chair on our entry, dark empty eyes staring at us lifelessly as we approached.

“Maker have mercy!” Rori gasped at the sight of the tranquil. Then she burst into tears, overwhelmed by her sympathy, her horror, helplessness and fury.

Rori had never reacted well to tranquils. The mere concept of the rite of tranquility creeped her out. Being around them was painful for her; her sympathy made her feel the sorrow and despair the tranquils themselves would never know again. My templar training gave me a differentiated opinion on tranquils. Still, I was uneasy around them and couldn't help the guilt crushing down on me as if I had been the one to condemn them. It's just never pleasant to be around a tranquil.

With this one here it was worse than anything I had ever seen before. Her former self was still present like a distant echo, a dreadful cry of pain, a piercing howl of anger, a heavy sigh of hopelessness and despair. This mage certainly hadn't gone down without a fight. Being close to her made my hair stand on end like it had when we had entered the haunted house in the alienage.

Once there had been fire burning within the depths of these dark orbs, there had been sparks of warmth and mirth. The rite of tranquility had annihilated everything this young elven woman had once been, had turned her beautiful ebony features into a death mask, had extinguished her grace and vigor. She moved like a broken puppet, dragged along on her strings.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a voice bereft of all emotions, unmoved by our strange behavior.

“Um... err... well...” I stammered helplessly.

“Why did they do that to you? Why did they make you... tranquil?” Rori blurted out, her hands tightly curled into fists.

If she found the question odd or inappropriate, the tranquil didn't show it. “I was accused anonymously of having sided with Uldred,” the woman said.

“And? Did you?”

“No. The evidence was faked but I could not convince the templars of their falsehood. Their incertitude was borne by me.”

“But... but that's unfair!” Rori howled, her voice shaking. The tranquil just stared at nothing in particular. She didn't even flinch when Rori started kicking around a chair to vent her anger and helplessness, but I swear the air around her changed, an icy breeze blowing into our faces.

“Well, I am... um... utterly sorry... but that's actually not what we have come here for.” I grinned foolishly, running my fingers through my hair uneasily. “Um, we are looking for any evidence about King Maric's visit to the tower twenty years ago.”

Without a word the tranquil led us towards an area left of the counter where several desks illuminated by light balls made for a study.

“They had no right to make her tranquil!” Rori hissed at me, still awfully upset. “She was innocent but they didn't care in their paranoid state of mind after the rebellion!”

“I know. But there's nothing we can do about it anymore. The rite cannot be undone.”

“Has anybody ever tried to undo it?” Rori retorted fiercely and I realized this wasn't about the tranquil alone. Unlike me, Rori hadn't entirely voluntarily joined the Grey Wardens. And now she was trapped inside a quickly decaying body. Sure, I was in the same boat with her. The difference was, I had more time left and I had Rori. She would move heaven and hell to find a cure and she would drag me along. “No, nobody has. Because it's only mages and what do we care for them?”

“You're preaching to the choir, Rori.”

"Hmph! I just... Maker, Alistair, look at her! She used to be so... spirited. And now..." Sobbing, she wiped her nose at her sleeve, then rummaged in my pockets for a handkerchief. She was so miserable I just had to give her a hug and gently kiss the top of her head. Snuggling against my chest, she craned her neck to look at me and cracked a smile in return, sad and hopeless and so deadly tired of the everlasting struggle to stay alive. But when she shrugged out of my embrace, the glint of determination was back in her eyes. The word surrender did not exist in Rori's vocabulary.

Reaching the first desk in the row, the tranquil pointed at a small wooden chest.

“So there is something!” I exclaimed. I hardly could believe me luck. Finally I would get some answers. “Why did Irving say everything was lost?” Excitedly I lifted the lid off the box and found the response right there. The box was filled with papers burnt to a cinder. The lid still in hand, I slumped on a chair and in mere disbelief stared at the charred mess in the box. “Oh...” was all I could say.

“Oh!” Rori echoed and curiously bent over the box, for now forgetting about her and the tranquil's fate as she could occupy herself with solving a mystery.

“It's all burnt, Rori. There's nothing to find here. Not the tiniest piece of evidence,” I muttered disappointedly.

“Yes, it's all burnt—inside that chest. It's unharmed, don't you see? There's only one way to burn something inside a wooden box and not burn the box as well.”

“Magic!” I exclaimed.

“See, there's your evidence!” Rori grinned.

“Wow! Someone worked magic in a tower crammed with mages!” I mocked. "The case is solved!”

“Don't be a jerk, Alistair!” Rori teasingly punched my arm. Then she carefully with the nimble fingers of a thief peeled the papers from the box. Most crumbled the moment she touched them, tinging her fingers grey and black. Some tiny pieces, however, weren't burnt and after a while scraps of paper piled on the desk.

I picked one up. “'Genev', 'ion', 'uncan', 'ari', 'colas',” I read the snippets of words. “Wow. Helpful indeed!”

“Alistair! We've done more with less during the Blight,” Rori scolded me. “Here,” she pointed at 'uncan', “can't you even imagine what that means?”

“Um... Duncan?” I guessed.

“I think so, too. So this here probably is a list of names.”

“It's still a waste of time,” I grumbled. “We already know that Duncan was here and the other names we cannot decipher.”

“Maybe there's other documents? Diaries for example.” Rori turned to the tranquil and shuddered involuntarily. “Could you... err... what's your name?”

“Neria Surana,” the elf answered in her monotonous voice.

“Nice to meet you, Neria. My name is Rori. This is Alistair. Could you please find all contemporary testimonies with the date of Maric's visit?” I couldn't help grinning. Can't be done – there was no such thing for Rori. Without her I would still be standing in front of Flemeth's hut indecisively.

The tranquil wandered off without another word and Rori and I were left alone to examine the fragments. The doors opened once and a mage squeezed in, hesitating when he became aware of us. He slowly began to walk towards the abandoned counter, leaning against it in a manner that meant to appear casual. He cleared his throat several times, wiped the sweat of his brow and grimaced a supposed to be smile at us when he noticed us staring.

"S-suri isn't here?" he stammered, nervously rubbing his hands together. If not for his odd behavior, he would have been completely unremarkable, a face so plain that it got lost in a crowd and was easily forgotten.

"She's somewhere in there." Rori waved at the labyrinth of shelves.

"And... what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice sounding so hostile he now had Rori's and my undivided attention. He was rather short and chubby, had mousy brown hair... the epitome of featurelessness.

"Research," Rori said pointedly, shifting on her chair so he couldn't see she was ready to charge should he make a wrong move. I tapped my templar powers, just in case. 

"The documents could have been brought to you. There's no need for you to come down here," the mage complained.

"We didn't want to be an inconvenience to anybody," I offered as an explanation.

"Well, you are," the mage informed us. "Suri doesn't like to be around strangers. That's why I arranged for her to become the archivist. Nobody ever comes down here."

"Nobody but you," Rori observed coolly.

"I just look after Suri, if there's something she needs," the mage defended himself hurriedly. "And who are you anyway?" he added harshly.

"We're nobody you would want to mess with," Rori retorted acidly, her sharp tone making him flinch.

He scrutinized us both for a moment before deciding he better not step on our toes. "Don't wander around alone," he said in a huff. "You could get lost in the labyrinth." Then he hurried towards the shelves, constantly looking over his shoulder until the shelves hid him from our view as if to make sure we stayed where we were.

"Strange guy," Rori muttered, shaking her head. "He didn't want us here. Especially not near the shelves. Not at all. I wonder why?" She shrugged and returned to the scraps. "Okay, now what do we have here?"

"We got nothing. It's like several incomplete puzzles thrown together," I groaned, pushing around the scraps mindlessly. Without Rori I probably wouldn't have made the effort at all. But she sunk her teeth into it like a mabari.

"Ortan Thaig," Rori exclaimed, waving a scrap in front of my nose. "And something about an Architect."

“An architect? Did they want to erect a Grey Warden fortress down in the Deep Roads?” I wondered, frowning. “That sounds like madness. We've seen no trace of a Warden camp down there... only cobwebs and spiders.”

“Ewww... don't remind me of that place. Wild horses couldn't drag me there!” Rori shuddered. "But the word Architect starts with a capital A. As if it was not a job title, but a name."

"A spelling error?"

"Perhaps," Rori admitted.

"Ortan Thaig... if they really went there, the dwarves possibly recorded the visit."

"If they knew anything about it," Rori said. "It's worth checking out the shaperate in Orzammar, though, when we pay Bhelen a visit."

The rest absolutely made no sense at all, so we made up the wildest conspiracy theories such as: The Orlesians sided with the darkspawn to abduct Maric and install a darkspawn kingdom. Then we spent some time wondering about the 'arch' in Architect and if it was connected to the Archdemon but Rori said then we would have to suspect anybody called Archibald, too, of being the incarnation of evil. I pointed out that in that case it was more likely that the parents who named their poor kid Archibald were the incarnation of evil and that led to our decision to name the archdemon skeleton in Avernus's laboratory Archibald—or for short, Archie.

When we ran out of conspiracy theories we decided to search for Neria to see if she already had some results or if we could assist searching. The mage's warning of us getting lost certainly did not stop Rori from poking her nose into things that were none of her business. "He was far too eager to keep us away from the shelves," she said.

"And that's why that's where we will go?" I teased. "One day you'll go too far and then—ZAPP! Frogtime! Mark my words!"

Rori stuck her tongue out at me in reply. "So what? You break the spell by kissing me and then we'll live happily ever after."

"My luck and I'll turn into a frog as well."

"Hehe, the frog king!"

Walking along the row of shelves organized by dates, we called the tranquil's name but she didn't answer.

"Strange,“ Rori murmured.

It took us a while and several ladders to find the correct aisle, a gloomy narrow corridor several stories above the ground, smelling of dust and mold, balls of dim light buzzing by like ghosts of lost souls. It was dead silent. Sure, this was a library, but it was not that librarian hushed kind of silence. It was that ominous all hell's going to break loose soon silence.

Rori and I looked at each other at the same time. "I don't like this," Rori muttered. My sentiments exactly. Had the templars truly cleared every area of the hold, or had something terrible escaped their purge and now hid in the bowels of the tower? Carefully we entered the labyrinth, sneaking past books, chests, piles of paper all stuffed into the endless rows of shelves, always prepared to find a monster around the next corner.

And then we stumbled across the monster. It wasn't what we had expected—no demon, no abomination, no wraith or anything else radiating evilness. This monster wore a human face.

He was pressing Suri down with his weight, positioned between her bare, spread legs as he pounded into her, grunting and groaning. The tranquil, trapped beneath him lay as still as a corpse. Her face was like a mask, her dark empty eyes reflecting the lustfully contorted features of the man on top of her.

I could have very well dealt with another sloth demon or anything like. I was not prepared for this sight, however. It froze me on the spot, conjuring up dark, excruciating memories of Fort Drakon, and I was still trying to comprehend when Rori with a roar of ferocious fury—provoked by the very same memories that paralyzed me—charged down the aisle and, blinded by her wrath, right into the mage's trap, a circle of runes gleaming dimly on the wooden floor. I saw it the moment Rori jumped right into it, my cry of warning a heartbeat too late. Rori stopped dead, frozen to the spot by the paralyzation spell. Her eyes still blazing with rage, she struggled against the magic pulsing around her, straining the invisible bonds that held her in place.

"Get off her, you base-born jackal!" Rori's tongue obviously was not affected by the spell.

"She's only a tranquil," the startled mage defended himself. "She doesn't feel anything! She's not really human anymore, more like an object. The only reason of her existence is to be useful and serve the needs of others..."

"She's not your personal mattress!" Rori exploded. "Stop making up excuses for what cannot be excused!"

"You don't understand! I love her! I've always loved her but she... she never even noticed me! But now! Now she belongs to me!"

"So that's why you faked the evidence against her to see her made tranquil?" I asked icily.

"What else could I have done?" the mage whined, his voice heavy with self-pity.

"You are a monster!" Rori spat at him.

One of so many that wore a human face. That's what I like about darkspawn. You cannot mistake them for anything they are not. They are evil and they look, smell and act evil. It's that simple. Humans, however... Darkspawn are evil by nature, humans are evil by choice. Maker's Breath, I have seen them commit crimes that make the darkspawn horror pale in comparison.

"Rori, calm down. We will serve justice and have the man brought in front of the council for punishment," I reasoned despite my urge to just kill that bastard right here and now because you cannot just murder a criminal without a trial without reducing your moral standards to absurdity. Whenever I tried to explain that to Zevran, he predicted my soon, sudden and painful death because obviously the nice guys get assassinated more frequently than incompetent, stupid and violent tyrants.

"Fuck the council!" Rori hissed. "I'll kill that bastard!"

I was just preaching halfheartedly about vigilante execution being evil when the mage lifted himself off his victim, a nasty sneer forming around his lips as he prepared a spell. I gave up lecturing Rori and I dug into my templar powers instead. A surge of energy left his outstretched fingers, crashing against my shield of purity. I could sense the sizzling at the edges of my mind when the magic drowned in the countering effects. Puzzled, the mage stumbled one step backwards. Equally puzzled Rori, the spell holding her now broken, stumbled one step forwards, lost balance and hit the ground.

The mage didn't waste any time now that he was aware he was facing a templar. I sensed the magic building around him quickly as he prepared the first spell that came to his mind. Flames burst from his fingertips just when Rori was about to get back to her feet.

"Stay down!" I shouted and Rori dropped back to the ground. I followed suit and the fire spear shot past us, hitting one of the shelves in our backs. Crammed with old books, dry parchment and piles of paper in wooden or carton boxes, the shelves went up like a match. The fire roared like the archdemon itself as it devoured the first shelf and then hungrily spread to swallow whatever got in its way.

"No open fire," Suri said at the sight of the flames devouring the shelves. She was still lying on the floor with her robes pulled up over her hips. Rori jumped across her, chasing the fleeing mage down the aisle, leaving it to me to pull the tranquil back to her feet and drag her along. Rori had reached the end of the aisle and darted around the corner. Next, she jumped back into view again and another fire spear shot past her, setting another row of shelves on fire. I grabbed Rori by the back of her shirt before she could charge after the mage again.

"Forget about that bastard! We have to get out of here!" I shouted in her ear above the roaring fire. Of course she would not forget about him—for now, however, we had other fish to fry, like avoiding to get fried ourselves. The way back was blocked, in front of us the shelves formed a wall of flames. Smoke billowed around us, making it hard to breathe. We were several stories above the ground, too high to just jump—well, at least to jump all the way down in one go. But down we had to go and without hesitation Rori climbed over the railing and with artistic ease dropped to the floor below.

"Hurry!" she cried, bending over the railing to see what was keeping us from following her.

It was the tranquil having difficulties to climb the railing. She definitely was Team Bookworm. Mental note to myself: Donate money for a gym at the tower. As we couldn't wait for Suri with that inferno roaring in our backs, we just abseiled her down with the thread-thin rope hidden in Rori's belt, rope winch included. It had a label saying '©Dagna'. We tied the rope around her chest and sent her sliding downwards, climbing after her. It all worked pretty well and we had almost reached the ground when the bar of the railing, consumed by the fire, gave way and Suri fell down the last two stories. I tried to get hold of the rope but it slid through my fingers. I saw her fall, silently, her face completely blank of any emotion, no fear, no surprise—nothing. And then she hit the mage. He came running out of the labyrinth and Suri dropped onto his head out of nowhere, burying him beneath her when they both hit the ground. She wasn't heavy, but he fell so hard, his head hitting the edge of a stone step that broke his skull.

Suri still sat on his back when we arrived just in time for the doors to burst open and Greagoir, Irving and the tower fire brigade—any templar and mage available—stormed in. They took a look at the burning archives in our backs, then at us. "Wasn't me!" Rori and I blurted out in unison same time Greagoir and Irving said: "What have you done this time?!"

"We can explain everything..." I started but was cut short by Greagoir.

"Undoubtedly," he grunted while ushering us and Suri out of the burning hall. "But with all due respect, your Majesty, I'd rather have you send me a letter of explanation from somewhere far far away from this tower! Excuse me now, I have to supervise the firefighting operations."

"I can't leave her here," Rori insisted while we climbed the stairs with the tranquil in tow. "Not after what this man did to her."

"He is dead," I pointed out.

"Yeah," she muttered angrily, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. "That bastard got off far too easily."

She couldn't fool me. This wasn't about Suri, or not alone about her. "Killing him wouldn't have made any difference for you," I said softly. "It never does. We both know that first hand."

"Loghain," she whispered, her anger subsiding at once, resignation taking its place. "Howe. The men from Fort Drakon." She smiled sadly at me when I gently squeezed her shoulder. "I still can't leave her here. And don't you think Avernus needs a helping hand?"

"Well...", I began because a choice between the Circle and Avernus seemed like choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea to me with Avernus being the devil.

"That was a rhetorical question, Alistair!" Rori said stubbornly. "It doesn't require an answer."

"It does. It requires Neria Surana's answer," I pointed out.

It turned out that even tranquils know when they have been treated badly. Suri didn't mind, so we packed her and our stuff and walked off with the tranquil before anybody had time to take notice of us and ask some unpleasant questions.

"I've heard you almost burned down the tower," Cullen grumbled when we appeared at the reception in the entrance hall to announce our departure. After his last outburst, Knight-Commander Greagoir had reduced him to the work usually done by a tranquil. It didn't help Cullen's mood. Quite the contrary.

"It wasn't us!" Rori said in a huff. "And a nice day to you, too, Ser Curmudgeon!"

"Whatever," Cullen muttered as he scribbled our names into the register, adding the date and time of our leave. He squinted his eyes at Suri. "Do you have a permission to take the tranquil with you?"

"Well..." I began same time Rori said: "Yes!"

Cullen looked from her to me, frowning at my foolish grin and Rori's angelically innocent smile. "Eh, what do I care? At least you'll be gone now. Don't visit us again anytime soon. At least not as long as I am still here. And just in case you think about traveling to Kirkwall: don't!"

"That's where they send you?" Rori asked curiously.

"Far, far away from you," Cullen confirmed with satisfaction. "With an ocean between us."

"Um... Cullen..." I said slowly as I watched him close the register and put his quill down.

"What?" he groaned. "What more do you want?"

"The register—it names every arrival and departure, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Sooooo... do you still have the registers of the years 9:10 and 9:11? " With squinted eyes I already searched the shelf in his back.

"Yes, they are here and no, you cannot see them." Cullen crossed the arms in front of his chest and glowered at us menacingly. "And I don't care if you are king."

"Fine," Rori said with utmost nonchalance as she pulled up three chairs for us to take a seat. "Then we wait here until Greagoir comes." She flashed the brightest smile at Cullen when she made herself comfortable on her chair. "Kirkwall, you say? It's been a while since a Fereldan monarch paid a visit to..."

"9.10 and 9.11. you said?" Cullen snapped furiously as he rose to scan the shelves. "Here." He slammed the register books in question onto the counter. "Help yourself."

"You're too kind," Rori chirped sweetly.

It didn't take us long to find the correct date of the Grey Wardens' arrival. They and Maric had reached the tower early in 9.10. Suddenly the snippets of words made sense. Genevieve, Fiona, Duncan, Maric, Nicolas... Now we had the names of the Grey Wardens. The Orlesian headquarters or Weishaupt possibly could offer more information. It was at least something.

"I also want to see the entries for the time when the page was ripped out of the archive registry," I said.

"Why?" Rori asked.

"As we assume the destruction of the files concerning Maric and the Wardens got destroyed by the same person who damaged the registry book, they could have been visitors - or Maric just sent a note to the tower to destroy them and they did."

With Suri's help, we narrowed the time frame down and, in the end, we found what we had been looking for. It was one name.

Fiona.


	15. Life is Messy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Ashley-Reid - thanks so much.
> 
> It's been a long time but finally I managed to write a new chapter. Ashley says I need more action in the story and there will be some in the next chapter. Hope you still enjoy this action-less one.

Leaving Kinloch Hold—again. In thick mist—of course. Considering how often I had climbed into that nutshell of a boat already, I was very tempted to rebuild that broken bridge between the mainland and the Tower of Magi. It certainly sounded like a better idea to me than Bann Franderel's idiotic plan to build a wall between Ferelden and Orlais and make the Orlesians pay for it. The obnoxious bastard certainly was driving me up the wall with his stupid ideas. And Rori was fantasizing about walling him up like she and Shale had done with Anora every time Franderel got started about that stupid wall again. Even Anora said he was a dick. Okay, that's not what she said verbatim, but it's what she meant.

What? I haven't yet told you of Bann Franderel, self-proclaimed leader of the opposition and biggest loud-mouth in all Thedas? Alright, politics isn't exactly my favorite and I try to avoid it as best as I can... Yes, yes, I know I am king. So what? Anyway, Franderel was hard to avoid or ignore. Actually, it was impossible. He and his lot doubted I was Maric's son, and as if Ferelden didn't have enough problems already, they busily sawed the legs out from under my throne to overthrow me. Charming, huh?

Worried? Seriously? Nah! I mean, his ideas were so incredibly insane. All his conspiracy theories—like the one about me being a magically changed female mage from Orlais or the whole wall business—they were all a big heap of nug dung, as Oghren put it. Franderel really got on my nerves, but I very much doubted anybody truly believed what he said. Haha!

Anyhow, Franderel—who was quite obsessed with this wall idea—kept ignoring my question of how he intended to make Orlais pay for a useless wall they did not want. All he did was to repeat over and over again that he would indeed make them pay. Honestly, I was concerned about his mental health, but Leliana said that's exactly how politics work.

Anyway, a bridge... Greagoir wouldn't like it. Elemena would call me crazy. But bridges were such a lovely metaphor, connecting things, crossing gaps... Build bridges, not walls!

A bridge would also have saved Suri from becoming seasick. She had not spent a single day outside the tower ever since she had been brought in as a child.

She clung to the railing and threw up into the lake without a hint of discomfort, despite her body being shaken whenever she retched so violently as if she were about to turn her insides out. Whenever the urge to vomit stopped, Suri would just straighten up and silently sit next to Rori on her bench as if nothing had happened. Rori, however, made a major fuss about her. "Are you cold? Do you need a blanket? Here, take my... um... Alistair's handkerchief to wipe your mouth. It's okay, really. You can use it. Keep it if you want. I have another two or three of his somewhere. I just can't find them right now. Here's water to rinse your mouth..."

Suri rewarded her effort with a smile. The creepiest, saddest attempt of a smile I had ever seen in my whole life. She lifted the corners of her mouth because that's how she remembered smiles worked. It looked as if someone had stuck invisible hooks into her lips and pulled them upwards. It caused an icy shudder to run down my spine and Rori burst into tears again. I was almost thankful when the former mage became sick again and bent over the side of the boat.

Meanwhile, I was wrapped up in my own thoughts. Maker, how I missed the days when the most challenging problem in my life I had to solve was which boot belonged on which foot. I couldn't take it easy, all this king business. I was the one in charge and couldn't just load all responsibility on someone else's shoulders like I had during the Blight when I had followed Rori's lead happily. Not my decision, not my fault, I was only following orders. Those good old days were over now. I wanted to make things right as king, but neither knew how nor where to begin. And next to all the politics and ruling and a country in ruins, there was the riddle of my heritage. In the tower I had found a new piece of the puzzle that was Maric's and the Grey Wardens'—and thus my—past. I was tempted to just act as if I had never heard the name Fiona. Without Rori I'd probably just have stuck my head in the sand and waited for problems to go away—like I had when I couldn't find the courage to tell Rori I was—most likely—Maric's son. Unfortunately the ostrich approach so didn't work with her. Whenever I even tried, Rori would get a shovel and dig me out (that's a metaphor just in case you were wondering). 

Fiona... Duncan had named his battle axe Fiona. My brothers in arms had often joked about it, making fun about a feisty lover or overprotective mother, a wife he had ran away from. Duncan had only grinned and kept his mouth shut. Well, stick me in a dress and call me Sally if the Grey Warden Fiona wasn't the axe's namesake. Maybe she was still alive somewhere out there. Maybe other Grey Wardens knew about her. If there was a way to find her, somehow and Rori for sure would find it—even if she had to slay another dozen archdemons in the process. But did I really want to know? Voices were being raised—again—that I wasn't Maric's son. I didn't know the truth. I knew what I had been told by Eamon and it had turned out that part of that was a big fat lie. The maid from Redcliffe, she wasn't my mother. Nobody knew who she was. Maric had always kept it a secret, that's what Eamon said. I couldn't deny I looked a lot like Maric and Cailan. This nose is rather prominent, you see. Even Queen Moira, Maric's mother and thus my gran, had the very same nose. In the very unlikely case that Rori and I would ever have children together, the babies probably would already be born with the Theirin beak...

"A copper for your thoughts?" Rori slumped down on the bench next to me, waving a coin in front of my face as she snuggled to me. Suri was bent over the side of the boat again. She was quite in practice by now. "By the look on your face you're terribly worried about one of the many worrisome things we worry about a lot these days."

"My dear girl, I am the king. My royal thoughts are worth far more than a simple copper," I informed her, trying hard to supress the grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. The moment I felt her next to me, sneaking under my cloak, one arm wrapped around my waist and her head resting against my chest, all the gloomy thoughts just POOFed.

"Fine, a sovereign then, you royal racketeer." Rori grinned and dropped the money in my palm. "Now enlighten me, oh mighty king! What genius thoughts did cross your royal mind?"

"Well, as you have paid the price and asked so nicely..." I managed to give my voice a grave and severe tone, causing Rori to frown in concern and snuggle closer to comfort me. "I was thinking..." Dramatic pause. "I was thinking about... my nose."

"Your nose!?" Rori echoed in mere disbelief. "You were sitting here with a face as long as a fiddle and kept heaving heavy sighs, so I was terribly worried about what was tormenting you—and all that was on your mind was your nose?"

"It's not the tiniest of noses," I pointed out, laughing out loud at her annoyed sheepish expression. "It demands a whole lot of contemplation."

"It wasn't about what Zevran said lately about... you know, the size of a man's nose being proportional to his... um... most private parts..." Rori asked suspiciously in a hushed whisper.

"Really? I wouldn't be blurting that out if I had a tiny nose like Zevran..." I mused, chuckling in high amusement, when Rori grabbed my nose and pinched it. "OW!! Hey! No, no, I did not think about THAT! Though I might take it into consideration next time I ponder about my nose."

Rori playfully punched my chest. "I want my money back, you rascal! Oh, stop laughing! It's not that funny!"

"Then why are you laughing so hard?" I giggled stupidly, pulling her closer as I ruffled her curly hair. The mist dissolved, pale rays of light touching the dark surface of the lake, dyeing it with a golden shimmer. Nothing had changed, all our problems were still there, looming over us. But for now I could laugh fate in the face, and Rori, she flipped fate a bird and bloody blast it would try anything to change it. We had lifted ourselves up by our own bootstraps before. So we laughed for the sake of laughing—and then we laughed some more when we spotted Oghren standing at the pier, wearing nothing more than a very short gown he had clearly stolen from Felsi, and peeing into the lake. He frantically waved at us, bottle of whiskey in his hand. You just gotta love that dwarf.

"Pink with white bunnies. That's what I call a déjà-vu!" I laughed.

"It was a half-price wholesale," Rori informed me. "We all got one. Wynne, Leliana, Felsi, me—and Zevran."

"What? He left me out?" I pouted. "I feel neglected!"

We were still far from being close enough for a normal conversation when Oghren roared across the lake: "Ooh, that's huge, hehehe!" He pointed at the tower in our back. "I wonder how long it took to erect it. Hehehehe. Get it? Erect? Hehehe." He smacked his thigh, laughing so hard about his own joke that he almost toppled over into the lake.

"How often has he made this joke now?" Rori wondered, rolling her eyes.

"I have stopped counting. But I recall he has to buy a round for every repetition," I chuckled. Thus the reason why we were considered regulars at the Spoiled Princess.

When Suri didn't join in, the dwarf went on jovially: "Oh come on, don't tell me you don't see it looks like a huge—"

Before the dwarf could share his dirty thoughts with everybody and their dog, Felsi stuck her head out of a window of the Spoiled Princess and clamored: "Oghren! You useless piece of nug-dung! Get your hairy ass here! Now!"

"Eh?" Oghren grunted, lifting the hem of his gown as he scratched himself between the legs with relish, then held out the very same hand for Rori to help her climb out of the boat. EWW! "What does she want now? We're not even married and she already orders me around." Conspiratorially— and with his yet unaccepted hand still outstretched—he whispered to me: "Tell you what boy: Marriage is for suckers."

Rori scrambled to the shore all by herself and as far away as possible from the contaminated hand as humanly possible. "Is that what you need the liquid courage for?" She clicked her fingernails against Oghren's bottle of fine Fereldan whiskey.

"It's not yet too late to run for the hills," Oghren mused gloomily, wiggling the index finger of the declined hand in his ear. "This is the place of long-limbed goddesses, and I go and marry another Branka."

"Don't let Felsi hear any of that or we'll witness a funeral instead of a wedding ceremony," I chuckled while I helped Suri out of the boat. She was still very pale and when her feet touched solid ground I swear there was a hint of relief on her mask-like face.

"Now this is what I'm talking about!" Oghren beamed at Suri, an elven, ebony-skinned beauty with large doe-like eyes. "Ooh, come to Oghren, ye long-limbed goddess. The pride of Orzammar is here!" He smacked his lips and bucked his hips until Rori slapped the back of his head when Suri failed to react.

"Leave her alone!" Rori snapped angrily, baring her teeth at the dwarf as she stepped in between him and Suri protectively, her eyes blazing with fury, fists clenched at her sides. It was all totally lost on the dwarf. He only stared at her uncomprehendingly.

"Eh, what's wrong with her? Is she one of those quiet mages?" Oghren grunted, examining the content he had dug up from his ear before licking it clean. EWWW! It will forever stay a mystery why Felsi wanted to marry Oghren. Zevran had his very own theory—an XXX-rated one. I didn't understand half of it, especially not the part with the nugs and the bronto, the other half I didn't hear since I stuck my fingers into my ears and sang ‘lalala’ as loudly as possible. My ears are clean, by the way. Barkspawn makes sure of that. He sticks his tongue into my ears every morning when he slobbers all over my face to wake me.

"Huh? You mean a tranquil?"

"Tranquil, quiet, insipid... same difference.” Oghren shrugged. His next words and Rori's furious retort were drowned by Felsi roaring: “OGHREN! It's time for your bath! You smell like a bronto ass!”

Inspired by Felsi, Rori found a satisfying way for an instant revenge and shoved the dwarf into the lake without hesitation. It happened so fast he didn't see it coming. Oghren yelped when he hit the water, his pink gown billowing around him. Then, with a gurgling sound, he disappeared in the darkness of the lake.

"It's not like he didn't deserve it—and he certainly does need a bath desperately—but he can't swim, you know, and we cannot let him drown," I pointed out. "Someone has to rescue him." By the look on Rori's face, that someone was me. I groaned loudly as I dropped my weapons, shrugged out of my coat and kicked off my shoes before jumping into the icy water of the lake, searching for the dwarf. A hint of pink below guided me. I grabbed the hem of the gown—and suddenly was grabbed myself by strong, solid arms. I gasped, swallowing water, and then I was thrown back to the shore. The impact pushed out whatever air was left in my lungs. Groaning and gasping for air, I lay on my back when Rori's face appeared above me. "Alistair! Are you alri...?" With a loud thud, Oghren— gurgling, spitting and completely gownless—landed on top of Rori—and she on top of me.

There was movement in the water, the waves crashed against the shore when something huge and heavy rose from the surface. A large angular head, a tangled mass of pink silk on top and with gleaming eyes appeared. "Seriously?" Shale complained disgustedly. "Why does it always throw soft squishy things at me?" She plucked the bunny gown off her head as she climbed on shore. "And what is that?"

Her questions received no answer. Rori, sandwiched in between me and Oghren, quickly forgot about worrying about my wellbeing and any intention she might have had to apologize to the dwarf went out the window when Oghren, with a contented sigh, snuggled against Rori and grunted: "Aye, don't say a word, gal. I know you've been jealous. That's not the first cat fight over good old Oghren. No worries, the pride of Orzammar can satisfy them all!"

"I didn't shove you into the water because I am jealous. I shoved you because you are an inconsiderate, ill-mannered moron!" Rori hissed, bucking wildly to throw Oghren off. "Get off of me!"

"I'd call that a very euphemistic description," I groaned. And with combined strength, we shook the dwarf off. Then I quickly grabbed Rori, wrapping my arms around her from behind, before she could shove the annoying dwarf into the water again. One dip in Lake Calenhad was enough for one day.

"Eh, Felsi wanted me to take a bath anyway. I can cross that off the list now," the dwarf grumbled, lifting his arms to sniff his armpits. "Aye, that should do," he muttered before addressing the furious ginger. "It wouldn't have worked with us anyway."

"Tell me, why did I agree to drag this terrible dwarf along when we first met him?" Rori grumbled.

"Black despair?" I guessed.

Meanwhile, Oghren turned to Shale holding out the soaked gown to him. He didn't take it, though, but instead ogled the golem intently. "So..." The dwarf chuckled to himself and smacked his lips.

"What? Why is the drunkard staring at me?" Shale asked suspiciously, the gown still in her outstretched hand.

"So, you were a girl dwarf?" Oghren inquired with a wolfish grin.

"And? What of it?" Shale said brusquely.

"So essentially right now I am a naked boy dwarf and you're a naked girl dwarf?" Oghren licked his lips, his eyes raked over Shale's solid form.

"Who is also made of stone. Erase the mental image in your head, drunkard or I will crush you with my fist!"

"Hot!" Oghren groaned.

And that's when Shale dumped Oghren back into the lake where he sank like a stone. Just marvelous! Now guess who had to jump into that icy deep dark lake to rescue him. Again. Bingo! This so wasn't my day. Dwarves are small by nature, but that doesn't mean they are lightweight. With much effort, I managed to get Oghren to the surface where he clung to the pier. Rori pulled at the front while I pushed Oghren's behind.

"Ho! Hey! No dirty passes!" the dwarf grunted, when he half-slipped back into the water, his buttocks pressing against my face. And as if that wasn't humiliating and horrible enough, that moment was the very moment when Bann Franderel—a fat, wobbly man with a hairdo like a dead fennec fox on top of his head—arrived with his whole entourage in tow. They wanted to board a ship to Redcliffe to attend Teagan's wedding and—just my luck—they became witnesses of the very last moment of my life I wanted to get witnessed.

"Look at our so-called king!" Franderel trumpeted as he stood at the shore without any intention to help us in any way. "He's an arse-crawler by nature. He'll crawl into any arsehole he can find, and he's so deep into Orlais' arse already he wouldn't find his way out with a map." He grinned stupidly and with utter satisfaction of how witty he was.

Unfortunately, I was unable to tell him to kiss my royal arse since Oghren's was sitting on top of my head and I was busy keeping him and myself from drowning.

"And your head is stuck so deeply in your own ass the farts you've been breathing in have gassed that one active brain cell you might have had a long time ago," Rori retorted through gritted teeth without thinking about the consequences. You just have to love that girl.

"Aye! Conk him! That's my girl! Come on, Rori, kick some ass..." Oghren agreed with glee, but then we all laughed so hard that I had to rescue Oghren a third time—which had us miss half of Franderel's reply but mostly it consisted of him shrieking and showering everybody in close range with spittle as he called Rori a foul-mouthed bitch. Rori kindly returned the favor. She's her mother's daughter and can curse like a sailor. I am so utterly proud of her.

"This is not over, bastard!" Franderel screamed, pointing his short fat finger at me when I had finally managed to climb onto the pier, as soaked as a drowned rat. "This has only just begun! I will make Ferelden great again—when you and your bitch are gone!"

I could have just ignored him. I had done so before. Just rolled my eyes and went on with my business. But that always led to him claiming I was a weakling. I could have returned the favor and borrowed some of Rori's colorful vocabulary, but that would have led to him claiming my foul mouth proved I had risen from the gutters. Rori, her eyes blazing with ferocity, bared her teeth at Franderel, ready to lunge herself at him like a frenzied cat. I laid my hand on her shoulder to calm her down, then turned to the obnoxious bastard.

"Fine, here I am," I said in a menacingly calm voice as I walked towards him slowly like a predator on the hunt, but with arms outstretched, palms up to show I was unarmed. "This is your chance. You and me, man to man. So, are you going to kill me?" Franderel stared at me for a moment in mere disbelief, his face ashen. He rubbed his hands nervously, his eyes darting from one of his guards to another. With every stride I took towards him, he retreated two steps. For once he did not know what to say.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," I snorted when Franderel hid behind his guards as soon as I was close enough to possibly hurt him. The guards looked at their master for instructions, but the quivering coward for once didn't know what to say. Turning my back on him I returned to my companions. "Nothing but hot air."

Franderel hurriedly waddled off to board the ship that would take him to Redcliffe. Only when the ship had left the harbor did he show up at the railing, shaking his fist at me. "You are doomed!" he shrieked across the lake. "You have come from nothing, you are nothing, you will return to nothing!"

"Zevran..." Rori began hopefully as she stood at the shore, her arm wrapped around my waist, the cool wind tousling her curly hair.

"No!" I said as firmly as possible with my teeth clattering heavily. I was freezing miserably in my soaked clothes.

"But he's so bored... "

"No! I might not know what kind of king I want to be, but certainly I know what kind of king I do not want to be: the type that murders political opponents. I have to defeat him in the game"

"You have no clue how the game works, Alistair," Rori pointed out mercilessly. It's so heartwarming when she has blind faith in my abilities.

"If I can't even win a political match against this clown with his idiotic conspiracy theories, I shouldn’t be king in the first place," I insisted.

Haha, yeah.... Famous last words. But you know what they say: Hindsight is easier than foresight. If I had known only half of the things to come, I'd have gladly tied a rock to Franderel's legs and dumped him in the lake personally.

"You're really setting the bar high," Rori laughed and I stuck my tongue out at her. "Alright, fine. So we don't have him assassinated. You've become so incredibly boring and reasonable ever since you became king. Maker, Alistair, I do believe you are about to grow up! I hope this isn't infectious."

"Maker forbid! There has to be something we can do about it!" I groaned in feigned despair. "Well... we won’t kill him but..." I grinned naughtily. "There are a whole lot of pranks from my time at the monastery that certainly deserve a revival."

"Awww, now that's my Alistair! I was worried out of my mind you would suddenly morph into a second Eamon! All earnest and solemn." Rori threw her arms around my wet self and cuddled me thoroughly. "Bann Blubberbutt will never know what hit him. By the way... you do realize we have to invite him to our wedding, don't you?"

"I'm not worried a bit about that. I am going to marry the woman who poisoned a dozen knights with laxatives to prevent a tournament her parents had organized to find her a groom. You will find a solution."

"Certainly." Rori grinned mischievously as she hooked arms with me. "First things first, though. For now let's get Oghren married away."

"A cakewalk," I laughed as I held the door of the Spoiled Princess open for Rori. Smiling broadly at me, she entered—and stumbled backwards a second later, a frying pan sailing past her head.

"Pissed as a newt! Again! You promised to be sober for our wedding day!" Felsi's voice shrieked from the barroom, accompanied by the sound of breaking dishes.

"I'm just putting on my beer goggles," Oghren protested.

Rori and I looked at each other at the same time. "A cakewalk," she grinned. "After you." She held the door open for me. Sighing, I rolled up my sleeves.

"I am beginning to think I would have been better off in the tower after all," Suri mused as she followed us onto the battlefield of love.


	16. The Griffons Rise Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Ashley Reid for editing this chapter. She's the grand mistress of the finishing touch.

“Ouch! I stumbled. Ewww. What is that?”

“Probably something dead.”

“If this is meant to make me feel any better, it’s not working. It's pitch black down here. I can't see anything. We should have brought a torch or lantern. I never thought I would ever say this, but I actually miss Morrigan right now. She could make light with her staff.”

“May I remind you that this was all _your_ idea?”

“Was it? As far as I recall, it was you whispering in my ear to go somewhere more private.”

“I meant our bedroom. Never did I say anything about crawling around in the dungeon and sneaking out of the castle! Eww! Cobwebs! I walked straight into cobwebs! Cobwebs mean spiders. I HATE spiders! AHHHH!”

“Hehe! No, no, don't hit me! It's no spider. It's only my hand on your shoulder. Shame on me, I couldn't resist.”

“ALISTAIR! You royal jerk!”

“Ow! Ow! Hey! I bruise easily!”

“I want to go back to our room!”

“Those walls have ears—and eyes. Never since I've become king have we had time solely for ourselves. I miss the good old days. Only you and me together...”

“Alistair, we spent the good old days in camps with our companions clearly within earshot and no more than a tarpaulin to provide the illusion of privacy!”

“You have no sense of nostalgia, my dear.”

“I just remember the good old days well enough to appreciate the luxury of a real bed. A warm and cozy bed with soft blankets and pillows... And room service...”

“Where's your thirst for adventure?”

“My whole damn life is an adventure. I'm pretty much an adventure inebriate. Ohhh, hey, I think I've found the trap door! Aww, the Old Mill, the most romantic place in all Redcliffe. Look how the moonlight sheens through the dusted windows! I'm enraptured. And oh… making mad love on empty flour bags... Yeehaw! My wildest dreams come true! Come here, lover boy!” Rori grabbed me by the front of my shirt, pulled me close, and gave me a light peck on the lips. Wow, she really wasn't thrilled.

“What was that?” I inquired incredulously, frowning in disapproval.

“A kiss. You really should know that by now.” Rori crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted.

“ _That_ was no kiss.”

“Alistair...” Rori said in a warning tone, her voice suddenly muffled by my lips crushing against hers as I swept her up in my strong arms and kissed her breathless. She feigned resistance for less than a second, then entangled her fingers with my hair, melting into the kiss. When we finally let go of each other, I was seeing stars and grinned stupidly from ear to ear.

“ _That_ …” I purred with pride and utter satisfaction as I rested my forehead against Rori's, “was a kiss!”

“Show-off,” Rori gasped breathlessly. She grinned, pinching my nose teasingly. Then she pounced me and we both landed on top of the empty flour bags she had spurned before. Now with her nimble fingers buttoning down my shirt and trailing open-mouthed kisses down my neck while I slipped my hands beneath her blouse, she didn't mind a bit the cloud of flour dust wavering around us. She sneezed twice, and stole my handkerchief from my pocket while pulling down my pants.

“Are we a little impatient?” I laughed hoarsely when she discarded my boots and socks as quickly.

“I don't know,” Rori said slowly as she wrapped her hand around my erection. “Are we?” She teasingly slid her palm up and down my shaft, a victorious grin on her lips when I arched my back to meet her excruciatingly slow rhythm urgingly.

“Yes, yes, we are,” I moaned loudly.

“I thought as much.” An impish grin played across her lips when she lifted herself off of me and, stepping into the spot of light the moon painted onto the dusty floor, slowly slipped off her clothes, one piece after another. Her movements as graceful as a dancer's, she pirouetted out of reach whenever I tried to grab her until she had me chasing her across the mill. It took me five rounds until I managed to tackle her. Another cloud of flour dust wavered through the air when we collapsed on the old sacks again, laughing ourselves to tears.

For some time we just laid in each other’s arms, kissing, then Rori slipped my shirt off my shoulders, her hands sliding down my arms, following the outlines of my muscles, hardened in far too many fights, tracing along any scar etched into my skin, gained on far too many battlefields. The tender pressure of her palm against my flesh, the soft caress of her fingers, it was all so familiar—like the scent of verbena lingering on her, the hoarse quality of her voice laced with desire when she whispered my name, the heat of her body, both soft and firm, pressed against mine, the taste of her kiss, fresh and sweet. She made every fiber of my body tingle with desire, engulfed me in the warmth of her love.

Rori knew every inch of my body—even those spaces between my toes where for some mysterious reason there's always tiny fuzz from my socks. She knew how much it turned me on when she flicked her tongue against the hollow of my throat before trailing it across my adam's apple with soft pressure. She knew dipping her tongue into my navel made me giggle like a little girl and how raking her fingernails down the inside of my thighs had me hold my breath, releasing it in a loud, lustful moan.

Only then, when she had me squirming and moaning, did she circle her small hand around my manhood again, so carefully and gently as if she feared to break it. Her fingers fluttered across my heated flesh, just a brush against the sensitive tip of my member before she leaned in to place a kiss on my glans—just as light as the one to my lips. “Maker's breath, Rori, I thought you'd know how to properly kiss by now,” I managed to press through gritted teeth, sounding far less nonchalant than I intended.

“Oh, I'm unsure. Perhaps if you showed me again?” Rori grinned, her lips brushing against the most sensitive part of my body. The dim light of the moon shining through the dusted windows glittered in her eyes. Shadows danced across her body, painting dark patterns on the silvery white of her skin. She was so breathtakingly beautiful, she seemed unreal, like a dream.

“Your desire is my command,” I whispered hoarsely. Rori moved to meet my lips, squeaking in surprise when I flung her around upside down to kiss her between her legs, first running my tongue across her folds teasingly before pressing the right ... um... button.

“HEY!” she protested, glowering at me over her shoulder, her pink little slit hovering over my face. “This is not what I... MAKER'S! BREATH! Alistair... oh Maker's Breath... Alistair...”

Oh, this was music to my ears. I can't think of anything that turns me on more than my woman squirming against my touch and moaning my name in pleasure.

“Alistair!” Rori cried out in bliss before her tone changed completely. “Darkspawn!”

Ah. There’s nothing better to extinguish the flames of desire more effectively than the mentioning of those foul creatures.

“Err... What? Did you just say...?”

“Darkspawn!!!” Rori gasped and slumped down on my face when she sat up. I love that woman and I have a whole lot of erotic fantasies about her—that, however, was not on my list. She started feeling around for something to wear in the dim twilight of the mill. When she finally lifted herself off me, she wore my shirt and hopped around on one foot, trying to put on her boots.

“Darkspawn?” I repeated sullenly. “Are you sure?” Rori didn't bother with a reply. Of course she was sure. Slaying the arch demon had poisoned her so thoroughly that she now could sense darkspawn miles off. Even I had to admit that the tingling I felt in the back of my head was not due to sexual excitement. “What are they doing here?!”

A rhetorical question, but this time I received an answer. “They want to abduct women to turn them into broodmothers,” Rori said absentmindedly. Her eyes widened in shock when she realized what she had just said. “Oh blast... how do I know?”

“We should return to the castle and warn—”

“They're already here!”

“We don't have any weapons!”

Rori pulled two nasty looking daggers from her Wade-made dragonskin boots.

“Correction: I don't have any weapons. I didn’t think I'd need them when sneaking away from Teagan's wedding party for some decent lamppost licking.”

“Hurry up, Alistair!” Rori, in no more than my finest silken shirt and her boots, kicked the door of the mill open.

“And I have no pants…” I observed. Rori's habit of flinging clothes anywhere led to often long-lasting searches when in a room bigger than a tent; made even worse when we were outside. I had climbed trees to retreat my pants. From outside, the sound of metal clashing against metal reached my ears. Rori was fighting darkspawn all alone and the only piece of clothing in reach was her dark blue chiffon skirt. Fighting darkspawn starkers and with a prominent erection visible to everybody and their dog or while wearing my woman's skirt. How does one make such a choice?

“Alistair! There is really quite a lot of darkspawn out here!”

Well... Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

With some effort I squeezed myself into the skirt, grabbed the first thing in the mill that could be diverted from it's intended use to a weapon and— a rusty dungfork in hand—charged out of the mill and into a group of seven remaining darkspawn. Scouts for sure. They had eliminated the guards at the bridge, their bodies spiked with arrows. We had to raise the alarm before the main troops arrived. Making as much noise as possible seemed our best option. “For the Grey Wardens!”

Wielding my dungfork, I rammed it into a genlock's stomach before it could stab Rori, laughing herself to tears about my outfit. I curtseyed gracefully, lightly lifting the hem of my skirt. Rori toppled over in her gigglefit and the hurlock that had just aimed for her head decapitated a fellow darkspawn instead.

“Stop laughing and gimme a hand!” I cried. The skirt billowed as I spun around, driving a hurlock against the trunk of the large tree next to the mill. The dungfork was now so thoroughly lodged into the darkspawn that I could not retrieve my weapon of choice. I pulled and shook it, but it did not move an inch. The clashing sound of blades proved that Rori had recovered from the shocking sight I offered. I pulled with all my strength and braced my feet against the trunk to add more weight when a shadow cast over me and the foul stench of darkspawn breath hit the back of my neck. “Alistair!” Rori yelled. “Duck!”

Too late. I heard the sound of a sharp blade cutting through the air, felt the cool whiff on my skin. My hands clenched around the helve of the dungfork, I realized I would never make it. This was the end. I would go down in history as the king who died fighting darkspawn with a dungfork, clad in nothing but a chiffon skirt. The stuff that heroic epics are made of. Rori screamed when all of a sudden, the dungfork jolted free. I was thrown backwards against the attacking darkspawn, landing on top of him. It snarled into my ear, then sunk its sharp teeth into my shoulder from behind. Ouch! But certainly the villagers were now alarmed. No way anybody could have not heard my roar of pain and fury. Again, I was stuck. The blasted bastard just wouldn't let go. It was easier to retrieve my boots from Barkspawn than to unlock this genlock’s jaws. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Rori defending herself against the main force of the darkspawn crossing the bridge. But they weren't the only ones with reinforcements to back them up. In my effort to shake the darkspawn off I almost missed the sound of hooves and the rattling of heavy armor. The sword splitting the genlock's skull right next to my ears was hard to miss.

“Out of the way, civilian,” the owner of the sword droned with a thick accent. He wore some splendid armor, silver and blue and a helmet formed like a griffon's head. He wasn't alone. A dozen more warriors and mages, all clad in silver and blue with the griffon adorning their armors, fought alongside against the darkspawn. Our Grey Warden reinforcements from Orlais had arrived. Brilliant deduction, huh?

They cut down darkspawn left and right with strictly organized military efficiency and professionalism. And all the while they looked absolutely fabulous. Much unlike Rori and I. She was gorgeous, of course, whirling around her blades fiercely and with her hair tousled and my shirt having slipped off her left shoulder. A shirt that only reached mid-thigh... Oops. Darkspawn. Attention, Alistair. I certainly didn't want to get rescued again. Not good for my self-esteem.

“I am Gerod Caron, commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden.” Once the darkspawn lay slain, the knight in splendid armor took off his helmet, shook his long blonde hair and offered a patronizing smile. “You may thank me now for saving your lives.”

“Correction: I am the Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. And you are late. We were expecting you three weeks ago in Denerim.” Rori countered, arms akimbo.

“You? A half-naked little girl? Wait, are you this Cousland woman? The one who survived slaying the archdemon?"

"That's who I am."

"Playtime is over, my dear. The real Grey Wardens are here now. Weisshaupt appointed me Commander of Ferelden. I am authorized to take you captive. Kristoff, shackle her.”

Err…

HUH?

WHAT?

“Whoa! Wait! Nobody is going to get arrested—especially not Rori!” When this Kristoff guy moved, so did I. Without even thinking about it I placed myself firmly in between Rori and the Grey Wardens, dungfork at the ready. I was beyond surprised. Sure, the letter we had received from Weisshaupt had implied our fellow Wardens were less than pleased with how we had handled the whole Blight. But never had I thought they would turn against us.

“And who do you think you are?” Caron frowned with undisguised contempt at the half-naked man in the blue chiffon skirt who dared to step in between him and his target.

“Last time I checked, I was king of Ferelden.”

“Of course,” Caron laughed out loud. “You are a clown in a skirt and you stand in my way.”

“I am Alistair Theirin, formerly Grey Warden, now king. Clothes do not always make the man, Caron.”

Quickly I blocked his way when he tried to push past me, my dungfork now pointing at his chest.

“Oh, that's you!” I would like to say that Caron was impressed. Well, he wasn't. Not much of a surprise. “Didn't anybody tell you that Grey Wardens don't meddle in politics?”

I opened my mouth for an explanation, something about desperate times and desperate measures. But... no. No. Why should I have to explain anything? I was the king of this country. I didn't owe anyone an explanation. Especially not an Orlesian peacock, Grey Warden or no. He was making me damn furious. Just like Franderel and his lot, always doubting I was man enough to be king. “Didn't anybody tell you how to properly behave around a king?” I retorted, head held high.

Caron narrowed his eyes at me. “Weisshaupt...”

“Weisshaupt is far away. This here is Ferelden. And the young lady here is the commander of the Grey Wardens, by my order.” I didn't know where these words came from. The moment Duncan had recruited me, the Grey Wardens had become my family. I had been devoted to their cause. At least that's what I had made myself believe. Maybe it had solely been Duncan. Maybe I had been so desperate to belong somewhere that Duncan's warm welcome had won me over right away. But now I had Rori. Next to her, everything else faded into insignificance. I knew I was failing Duncan. Again. I had passed the point of no return the moment I had decided to sleep with Morrigan.

“This woman is a dangerous traitor.” Caron pronounced every word as if talking to a complete idiot.

“She slayed the archdemon and saved this country—and probably all the rest of Thedas, too.” I explained in exactly the same tone, frowning heavily to disguise the pang of guilt that crossed my face. Rori and I had saved, but also betrayed the Grey Wardens and all of Thedas.

“She slayed it and survived!”

So now we were getting to the heart of this confrontation. Alright, Alistair, kingly and cool and clueless at the very same time and all while wearing a skirt. That couldn't be so hard. Cailan had done it all the time. Minus the skirt of course.

“That's hardly a crime,” Rori protested defiantly.

“No, it isn't.” I agreed. As long as one ignored the part about impregnating an apostate witch so she could catch the soul of an old god in her womb. If anybody ever found out what we had done, we were both dead meat. “Surviving, I dare say, is the best-case scenario when defeating a foe. I don't see why this should mark her a traitor.”

“You don't know...?” Caron eyed us both suspiciously.

“We don't know what?” I managed to sound unnerved and impatient. Don't waste his Majesty's precious time, fool! I was so proud of myself I had to fight the urge to grin stupidly and wiggle my eyebrows.

“The Grey Warden who slays the archdemon dies.” Caron said matter-of-factly, scrutinizing us for our reactions.

“But I didn't die!” It was indeed remarkable how convincingly Rori was able to feign complete innocence.

“Exactly. So you cannot have slain the archdemon.”

“I was right there. She cut off its head. How much more dead could it be?”

“It is impossible!” Caron insisted. “The archdemon owns the soul of an old god. If slain by anybody but a Grey Warden, the soul finds another host in one of its minions. When slain by a Grey Warden, he becomes the host of the tainted soul. His death destroys the soul and ends the Blight. That's how it has always been. But here this woman is, alive. There has to be an investigation. She has to be interrogated. For that she will be sent to Weisshaupt.”

“Yeah, right, because we know everything about archdemons and darkspawn,” Rori muttered... “We've not known about broodmothers for centuries, and yet they exist.”

“I very much doubt that story is true,” Caron snorted.

“Wonderful! And here we have another volunteer to accompany Leliana while she hunts broodmothers in the Deep Roads!“ I said merrily.

“I am the Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden…” Caron began again.

“Are you also hard of hearing?” I wondered.

“Weisshaupt...”

“No!” I said firmly. “You can ask Rori all the questions you want. I am sure she'll invite you over for tea and biscuits. We are just as interested in solving this mystery as you are and will assist in any possible way—on our terms.” I blushed a deeper shade of crimson. Even my ears glowed from all the lies I told him straight to his face. I still cannot believe he mistook it for high blood pressure due to my explosive temper.

“You cannot ignore the orders from Weisshaupt!”

“Of course I can. I am king of this lovely nation and if I have the job description right, that makes me the one in charge of everything.”

Caron's eyes darted from me to Rori and back again, taking in our lack of clothing, her wearing my shirt and her skirt on my hips. “There are rumors you intend to marry her,” he said in a conversational tone. "Do the people of Ferelden know their king has chosen a barren bride?"

"Barren?" Rori snapped, the epitome of indignation. "You don't even know me."

"Grey Wardens cannot sire or conceive children," Caron said triumphantly. "Didn't you know that?"

Rori and I looked at each other in feigned shock. Honestly, the way she opened her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling, I had trouble stifling a laugh. The situation wasn't funny. We had dreaded this confrontation ever since the end of the Blight. I had imagined it over and over again in different scenarios. Mostly it was about me on my throne acting kingly like someone the Wardens would respectcright away. But of course fate had to strike when I least expected it. And that indeed was funny. "Oh Alistair," she whispered in fake despair, clasping her hands over her mouth to hide her grin.

"He is only trying to frighten you," I croaked.

"So you didn't know that either? Is there anything you know at all about Grey Wardens?" Caron grinned condescendingly.

"No, no we don't know anything!" Rori spun round, her face contorted with anger, eyes glittering with tears. Her fists clenched at her sides she stepped up to face Caron. "Because nobody ever saw fit to tell us. All we ever got to hear was that we would find out in time and then suddenly nobody was left to tell us, guide us, help us. We were all alone with a Blight to end and we didn't know anything." And then she burst into tears, flung her arms around my neck and pressed her face to my bare chest.

"Hush," I muttered, my lips pressed together as tightly as possible to lock in the fit of laughter threatening to seize me. My task didn't get any easier with Rori giggling against my chest, her giggle fit disguised as heartbreaking sobs. "He also claimed the Grey Warden slaying the archdemon would die. He was mistaken. You killed the beast, yet here you are, my love."

"Oh Alistair!" Rori wailed, lifting her head to meet my eyes, hers clouded by tears. "Could this terrible man be lying? How could he be so mean?" Too much! My face contorted and I was sure I was going to explode with laughter. Thankfully, that was the very moment when Caron decided he had about enough.

“Get out of my way,” Caron said menacingly, once more trying to reach for Rori.

Oh, now this was getting old.

“My kingdom, my rules,” I said firmly, my eyes locked with the warden's as I came face to face with him, shoving Rori to stand behind me. “You don't like them, you leave.”

“You cannot throw us out. We are Grey Wardens!” Caron cried out in anger and disbelief.

“The order has been exiled from Ferelden before,” I replied coolly. Inwardly I cringed and begged Duncan for forgiveness. This really was not how I had imagined the reunion with my brothers and sisters in arms. Call me naïve, but even after the whole Morrigan affair I thought we would all be like a big family. Considering my personal family experience with Goldanna, I shouldn't have been surprised, I guess.

“And this has weakened your country and made it a target of the archdemon!” Caron shot back.

“The shortest Blight ever and we ended it without your help.”

“Mere luck,” Caron snorted.

“If you keep opposing me, you won't find yourself as lucky.” I said in a tone that would have made Anora go green with envy. By the look on Rori's face, she was equally impressed. The effect was reduced enormously, though, by her bouncing around me, giving me thumbs up. If this were about anyone but Rori and I probably would have let Caron have his way. She and I knew how important the Wardens were. A stronger number could have changed everything during the Blight. It could have saved Duncan. And Cailan. But there had only been a few and in the end, it had been only Rori and I.

Caron stared at me, his eyes taking in the skirt, the dungfork, and my unwavering, merciless glare. I will never know if I convinced him or if it was the arriving Redcliffe knights and villagers keeping him from just killing both of us right there. It was hard to read his expression, as smooth as an Orlesian mask. “They said you are weak-minded. Biddable and easy to manipulate,” he finally said slowly.

I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying something silly like: “I'm all of that when bribed with the right amount of fine cheese.” Instead, I kept glowering at him so hard my eyes began to water. Right before heavy blinking could ruin the whole kingly effect, Caron sank to his knees, bowed his head and said: “Forgive my boldness, your Majesty.”

Rori's jaw dropped and I had to elbow her side to stop her from displaying too much disbelief. I hadn't thought it could work with the skirt and, well, me being me. Thankfully all the Grey Wardens were on their knees so none of them saw us giving each other a high five.

Mwhahahaha! Strike!

Eamon stood amongst the knights and clearly wished he had accepted Oghren's drinking challenge once he beheld his king armed with a dungfork and wearing a chiffon skirt. Teagan was so drunk he mistook me for Rori. Franderel had only come to watch from afar but now, with the fight already being over, he came close enough for everybody to hear him declare he had always known I was a magically altered woman from Orlais formerly known as Alice and that the skirt was the ultimate proof. The thing is, you don't go to Redcliffe and insult Alistair Theirin, one of the Champions of Redcliffe who fought the walking dead and saved the village. The villagers of Redcliffe didn't take it well when Franderel kept insulting me. And, as they were already armed with knives, dungforks, rolling pins, frying pans, clubs, and hammers, they meant to make good use of all those tools and chased a shrieking Franderel around the village. He was saved by Caron and the two busily huddled together. Until Angus MacEanraig, thoroughly disappointed when he found there wouldn't be a fight, almost picked one with Caron by calling him an Orlesian fag with a fugly blonde wig. Bann Trevelyan doubted out loud if marrying his daughter off to Teagan had been a good idea after all, and Teagan whole heartedly agreed. That led to a mass brawl between the Trevelyan family and guests on one side and Teagan's Fereldan guests and the villagers on the other side—much to Angus's delight.

Meanwhile, Rori and I skulked off to the mill to collect our clothes. “We cannot trust Weisshaupt any longer,” she said when we crawled back through the dungeons. “We need our own Grey Wardens, loyal to Ferelden, loyal to their king.”

“You do realize that's everything the Grey Wardens shouldn't be? Their independence is a guarantee for every king they won't interfere in any way. No king in Thedas would have ever allowed the Wardens' military force to enter their kingdoms without that rule.”

“That's for the rest of Thedas. Grey Wardens also shouldn't be king. Or queen. Or arlessa. We have changed the rules with... the things we did during the Blight. I know it's not what you wished for. Duncan certainly would have disapproved. But there's no turning back anymore. We cannot allow Weisshaupt to stick their noses into our business. Not with Franderel and Esmerelle breathing down our necks. Not ever.”

I hated the mere thought of betraying the Grey Wardens any more. Despite everything Caron had said, I still hoped we could somehow fix things and I could be the kind of friend to the Wardens I so wanted to be. I had wanted to make Duncan proud, but with every decision I made, I receded more and more from the path he had paved for me. I had been willing to exile the Wardens again to save Rori and myself. When it had come down to choosing between my loyalty to the order and my love, there had be no doubts in my heart. And so I had knowingly endangered my kingdom and my people. With all the darkspawn running rampant around Amaranthine, we did need all the Grey Warden reinforcements we could possibly get.

“Is this the right thing to do?” I asked when Rori took my hand to lead me back to our room.

“It's the only thing to do,” she said without hesitation as she closed the door firmly behind us.

Sighing, I dropped onto our bed, rubbing my face tiredly. “Yes, but is it the right thing? Is it what a good king, a good man would do?”

Rori knelt down in front of me, taking my hands in hers. “A good king, a good man would have died slaying the archdemon,” she whispered, her thumb absentmindedly stroking my palm. “And his good woman would have taken his place to save his life for the kingdom's sake.” When she met my eyes, hers were filled with a deep, heartfelt sadness. “I've never been that good. I'm no heroine ready to sacrifice herself for the greater cause. Even now, after all that has happened, I still don't regret what I have done. Do you?” she asked unhappily.

“No,” I whispered, pulling her onto my lap to wrap my arms tightly around her and bury my face in her soft curls. “Never.”


End file.
